Evac
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Evac" by Keith Hewitt
"On the Wings of a Snow White Goose" by Frank Ramirez
"Jesus and Judas" by Lamar Massingill
"What About Lotteries?" by John Sumwalt
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Evac
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 1:1-11
Captain Mark Randall winced as the wind picked up and reflexively tried to reach for the kerchief around his neck -- bit back a yelp as the pieces of his arm shifted beneath the splint strapped to his chest. Not a good idea, he thought, and caught the eye of one of the two men in BDU's standing a discreet distance away. "Pfizer -- could you pull my kerchief up?"
"Right -- sorry," Pfizer said at once, seemed about to apologize for not thinking to do it himself as he stepped up next to the litter and carefully pulled up the checkered cloth, made sure it covered Randall's nose and mouth. He hesitated, then unslung the goggles from around his neck and gently slid them over Randall's head, snugged them over his eyes. "All right, Cap?"
"Couldn't be better, Pfizer. Thanks." The young officer looked down at Randall, then looked away, stepped back from the litter and caught his companion's eye. They both glanced at Randall again, then shifted their eyes away. Randall snorted. "Good grief, you two," he rumbled from beneath the kerchief, "I've got a busted wing and a couple more holes than God intended. I'm not dead yet and got no plans to be. Stop looking so tragic."
Pfizer rested a hand on the butt of his pistol, realized that didn't look right, and put it in his pocket. "Just hate to see you go, Cap. Kinda got used to you. And you're the only one who knows how to talk to some of these locals. You got 'em to let us start building schools for the girls."
"Well, I'm not exactly jumping for joy at being evac'd out of here, either. But Doc says I've got to, and Operations backs him up." He flexed his fingers -- it was an odd sensation; they were numb, but he could feel them flopping around at the end of his hand. Nerve damage, he thought, and frowned beneath the checked kerchief. Doc warned about that.
"You'll be fine -- both of you. We've got some good projects started, they just need to be pushed through to the end."
Pfizer glanced at his companion, looked away, studying the MedEvac helicopter on the pad, about a hundred feet away. Rose shuffled his feet a little and said, "You know, Cap, Pfizer's right. You've been heading up this team for the last three years -- you smoked out the insurgents, talked to the local head men, then the councils -- you got them to accept us being here. And then you got them to accept us helping."
Randall twitched, an involuntary movement as though to wave off the comments, left incomplete because his arm was immobilized, held together by the miracles of modern battlefield surgery and careful slinging. "First of all, that's a load of crap, and you know it. You were with me the whole time, you know as much about this as I do -- we're all playing blind man's bluff out here, half the time."
"Huh-uh," Rose said forcefully. "I've seen you walk into those meetings, where we just knew we were going to get our butts handed to us -- and I've seen you walk out with their trust, if not their full support... not right away, anyway. You've done more to pull these folks out of the Dark Ages than anybody else ever has."
"He's right," Pfizer agreed, eyes turning back to Randall. "Sure, we've helped, but these last few years -- they're all you. Sir."
Randall was saved from having to answer when a Warrant Officer trotted up to them from the helicopter and held up two fingers. "We leave in two, Captain Randall."
Randall nodded to him, and he hurried back to the helicopter, now starting to whine as it was powered up. Blades began to swing around slowly, adding to the wind and the dust. "Look," Randall said after a moment, raising his voice to be heard above the helicopter's turbines, "I hear what you're saying -- I just think you're wrong. Hell, I know you're wrong. You two are the best I've ever worked with, and you'll get along just fine without me -- and I expect you to prove me right."
With his free hand, he wiped a film of dust off his goggles, pointed down the valley. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to be gone -- it's not really up to me. But while I'm gone I expect you and the men to work your butts off finishing what we started! We've got two schools going up, but there should be one more, at least. Somebody should be doing something about the wells, and the clinic, and the communications links, and the..." He trailed off, shrugged with his intact shoulder. "You get the idea. There's a million things left to do -- I'd've been working on them, if I was here, but I'm not going to be -- so that means you are."
Pfizer looked off toward the cluster of huts that was the nearest hamlet, sighed and shook his head. "As you say, Cap. But it's going to be a pain in the butt -- half these folks don't even like us."
"They don't have to like you, son. They just have to believe you're telling the truth. Be honest, and do some good for them, and they'll come along. I guarantee it."
"Right."
The Warrant Officer and another crewman returned, each took up one end of the litter -- and waited. In silence, the two junior officers shook Randall's left hand, then saluted as his litter was lifted. Randall chuckled and gave a halfhearted saluting motion with his left hand. As they carried him away, he shouted, "I'll be back, and don't you forget it! I expect to see miracles when I get back here!"
They said nothing, watched somberly as the litter was lifted into the helicopter and the door was slid shut. The great rotors picked up speed, becoming invisible behind the dust cloud, and the big craft began to stir, as though convincing itself to leave the ground. Overhead, a plane dropped half a dozen flares that lit the daylight sky as they drifted to earth -- each burning hotter than the exhaust from the big turbines that powered the helicopter... a precaution against ground-launched heat seeking missiles. The helicopter shoved itself up into the air and rotated, as though picking out its route -- then nosed forward and began climbing toward the hills, the roar of its turbines and the thwack-thwack-thwack of the blades fading slowly as it disappeared.
On the ground, Lieutenants Pfizer and Rose looked after it, staring as though they might be able to spot it even beyond the horizon. Eventually, Rose sighed. "Do you really think he's coming back?"
Pfizer grunted. "All I know is, he thinks he is -- and after three years, here, I'm not going to bet against it."
"Right. How long?"
"Doc couldn't say, when I asked him... said the rounds he took should've killed him, so everything after that is just guesswork."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He looked at Pfizer. "Then I guess we'd better get to work or there'll be the devil to pay when Randall gets back."
In the dusty, silent valley, the men began to plan... and count the days until Randall's return.
On the Wings of a Snow White Goose
by Frank Ramirez
Luke 24:44-53
While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.
-- Luke 24:51
Since time immemorial people have looked up at the moon. It's hard to ignore. It's up there, in the sky, and not only that, it's constantly changing as it goes through the phases.
The question of what it was may seem obvious to us now, but it must have taken a good deal of thinking before the ancient Greek astronomers figured out that the moon was a world of its own. That led to some speculation, even thousands of years ago, about what that world might be like, and who might live there.
An even more intriguing question, once the matter of it being a world up in the sky was settled, was how to get there, if you could get there at all. After all, people just don't rise into the air.
This thought brings us to Francis Godwin (1562-1633), a notable cleric in England during the time of Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth, and King James. He was admired for his learning. In 1601 he published a book with the rather dry title of Catalogue of the Bishops of England since the first planting of the Christian Religion in this Island, which was important and respectable enough to get him appointed bishop to Llandaff and Hereford. He also published Rerum Anclicarium, a ponderous Latin work that was later translated into English by his son under the title: Annales of England.
But evidently unbeknownst to anyone, he was working on a rather odd little book about a trip into space and back again. It was published after he was safely dead, in 1638, with the title The Man in the Moone or the Discourse of a Voyage thither by Domingo Gonsales. The narrator, a Spanish nobleman whose fortunes rise and fall during the account, points out that at one time travel to America was considered an impossible fantasy and that travel to the moon is no more fantastic, if one could only devise a way to get there.
Godwin's hero, taking a year's rest on an isolated island following a series of harrowing adventures, trains geese to carry him about through the air, and on one occasion, having been marooned and attacked on another island, the geese carry him beyond the earth and to the moon, for that, it turns out, is where many birds from earth winter.
His journey of many days through space is one of contentment -- he feels no hunger looking down on the earth as it circles below. Upon his arrival he discovers a world filled with very tall, long-lived, and well behaved people who are devout Christians. In this utopia people approach their death with peace and calm, since they know they are going to be with God, often holding a great party right before their passing to celebrate with their friends.
And if on the off chance a baby is born with a propensity for evil, they solve this problem by sending such an infant to be raised on earth, where, presumably, this aberrant behavior wouldn't be noticed!
Godwin wasn't the first or the last to wonder how one could travel through space. Eventually there would be those who actually solved the problem. But the Ascension of Jesus, as portrayed at the end of Luke's gospel and the beginning of his second volume known as the Acts of the Apostles, is accomplished without any outside help -- no engines, no birds, not even a chariot of fire. The risen Jesus rises heavenward on his own. It's a singular accomplishment.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
Jesus and Judas
by Lamar Massingill
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
I've often asked myself why it is that two children in the same family can grow up and both receive the nurture of the church, beginning a journey of giving gifts to our world, while the other child chooses to throw his life away. It's a complex question. Two children with the same parental and spiritual influences who turn out as different as night and day. It's probably a question we could never answer except to say that no matter what kinds of influences we come up with, we are ultimately responsible for the choices we make in our lives. In short, we choose our own place.
For example, about the time that Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem, there was also another baby born. There was probably just as much joy in the hearts of Simon of Carioth and his wife as there was in the hearts of Joseph and Mary. Joyfully, Joseph and Mary gave their son a name that expressed their hopes and the hopes of the world: "Jesus," which means "God saves." However, just as thankful to God, and just as hopeful for their son's future as well, Simon of Carioth and his wife named their son Judas, which means "the praise of God." So it was that Judas of Carioth, or in modern translation, Judas Iscariot had his hopeful beginning.
These two babies grew up, and as young men, their paths crossed creatively as Jesus called Judas to become one of his disciples. But during the events leading up to the death of Jesus, something happened to these two men in a most mysterious way. Jesus went on to fulfill his name, "God saves." Judas, however, not only betrayed Jesus, but betrayed his own name as well. "Praise of God" became "betrayer of God," and we will never know all of the mysterious reasons why Judas chose such a way.
In the stories of these two men, we have much the same situation as the two children growing up in the same family that started our journey today. History bears out that Jesus and Judas had the blessings of solid parental leadership, yet one became a destructive taker and the other a sacrificial giver. One fulfilled his name; one betrayed his name and his Lord, and not being able to handle the guilt of the whole sordid choice he himself had made, went out and hung himself.
What I am suggesting is that we humans, gifted with the sacred responsibility of choice, decide what our own place will be. After the resurrection of Jesus, this is what Peter said when the apostles gathered to pick a successor to fill the place of Judas. Peter did not call Judas a murderer or a thief or a reprobate. He simply said that "Judas turned aside and went to his own place." We don't even know where or what the place was. Peter doesn't say. What we do know is that it was his own place, and he ended up there by his own choice. Possibly the actions of Judas say more about his place than Peter could ever say. Possibly Peter didn't feel the need to harp on the weaknesses of others as he was having a hard enough time with his own. I have a hunch that Peter chose not to participate in judging Judas, because he remembered what Jesus said about the dangerous act of judging others. I just don't know. He and the apostles had every right to bad-mouth Judas, but not a word, simply, "He turned aside and went to his own place." No judgment here, but just a simple fact about choice. And ultimately, we all go to the place in life we have chosen. And it will, like the difference between Jesus and Judas, be a place of either creative fulfillment or destructive waste. For Jesus' part, he chose this place when, after an exhausting time of temptation by Satan in the desert, creativity and fulfillment won over greed and militant power. He fulfilled his name: "God saves." But Judas on the other hand, chose his place when he allowed greed to win over gratitude, and therefore wasted any love or creativity he could have given to God or God's world. He betrayed his name. Both had possibility, potential to give the best gifts to humanity, and one fulfilled his potential, and the other threw it away.
I can't tell you how important this type of choice is, and the life choices that follow as a result of choosing to give your life to the service of God and humanity. You and I choose our own place in the world. It's not like choosing what home we will live in or what area of the country we will live in. It's not like choosing what kind of car we will drive or what kind of computer we will use. The kind of choice I speak of is much more complicated and difficult than those. The choice I speak of has to do with how we will live our lives and give our gifts. It has to do with using creatively what gifts we have been given in the service of humanity or wasting them destructively in the service of greed.
Listen, Judas had all the potential in the world. His very name meant the "praise of God." But somewhere along his journey, he crossed some line, made some choice, and found himself too much in this world. The result was devastating. His gifts, potential, generosity, and talents wound up hanging dead on a lonesome tree limb. It reminds me of Don Henley's character Harry, who got up one morning, "dressed up in black/went down to the station/ and he never came back/ His clothes were found somewhere on down the track/ and he won't be on Wall Street in the morning. In a New York minute, everything can change. In a New York minute, life can get a little strange." And it begins with something as simple and complicated as a choice. It's not an easy world to live in. And the one thing that separates human beings from each other is the places they have claimed with their power to choose.
There is an old story about a man who found an eagle's egg and put it in the nest of a backyard hen. The eagle hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life he did what the backyard chickens did. He clucked, scratched the ground for food, spread his wings to fly, and always wound up about three feet off the ground. Years passed, and the eagle grew old. One day, he saw a magnificent bird high above him in a cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its wings. The old eagle was in awe as he looked up. "Who's that?" he asked his neighbor. "That's the eagle, the king of the birds," his neighbor told him. "He belongs to the sky, but we belong to the earth. We're just chickens. So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he thought he was."
Followers of Jesus are resurrection people. People of the sky. Choose the sky! You do have the power; yes the inevitability, of choosing your own place. God be with you, and... Brave journey!
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
What About Lotteries?
by John Sumwalt
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles.
-- Acts 1:26
A young preacher decided to preach about lotteries and began his sermon with the following words:
"I have been following the Power Ball Jack Pot all week. When it got up to 600 million I was tempted to go out and buy a ticket. I began to think about what I might do with all that money. I could buy a LED television with a sixty-inch screen, pay off the mortgage and the credit cards, give a couple of hundred dollars to the kids (I wouldn't want to spoil them), help take care of the hundreds of thousands of people who are homeless and jobless, help end world hunger, put a couple of million aside for retirement... Just imagine all the good that could be done with this kind of money.
"Then I got to thinking about the responsibility that goes with having that much cash: all the hands that would be held out. All the people who know me would be calling and knocking on my door. I have over 200 relatives and those are just the ones I know. It just seemed like too much. So I didn't buy a ticket. Besides, I was afraid that I might run into one of you at the ticket counter and how would I explain it to the bishop if I won? My dilemma reminds me of an old story about a farmer who was going bankrupt.
"He had once been one of the most successful farmers in the county but then the bottom fell out of the market and he was about to lose everything. This farmer was also a fine Christian man, active in the church all of his life. He taught Sunday school and sang in the choir. It occurred to him that Jesus said to ask for what you need and God will provide. So he got down on his knees beside the bed one night and prayed: 'God, please help me! I'm about to lose the farm and if I don't get some money soon, I won't have any income or a place to live. Please let me win the lottery.'
"The next day when the numbers were selected for the lottery there were no winners. The jack pot was increased to 700 million dollars. That night the farmer prayed again, 'Dear God, please let me win the lottery. I am losing the farm, my family is going to starve. I don't know what else to do.' The next day when the drawing was held there were still no winners. The jack pot was now over 800 million dollars, the largest prize in the history of lotteries.
"Once more he got down on his knees and prayed with all of his might: 'My God, why have you forsaken me? I am about to lose everything. The mortgage is due. I have no money to pay. I don't often ask you for help and I have always been a good servant to you. Please let me win the lottery just this one time so I can get my life back in order.'
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light as the heavens opened and the old farmer heard the voice of God, Almighty: 'Earl, work with me on this... buy a ticket!' "
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
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StoryShare, May 17 & 20, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
"Evac" by Keith Hewitt
"On the Wings of a Snow White Goose" by Frank Ramirez
"Jesus and Judas" by Lamar Massingill
"What About Lotteries?" by John Sumwalt
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Evac
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 1:1-11
Captain Mark Randall winced as the wind picked up and reflexively tried to reach for the kerchief around his neck -- bit back a yelp as the pieces of his arm shifted beneath the splint strapped to his chest. Not a good idea, he thought, and caught the eye of one of the two men in BDU's standing a discreet distance away. "Pfizer -- could you pull my kerchief up?"
"Right -- sorry," Pfizer said at once, seemed about to apologize for not thinking to do it himself as he stepped up next to the litter and carefully pulled up the checkered cloth, made sure it covered Randall's nose and mouth. He hesitated, then unslung the goggles from around his neck and gently slid them over Randall's head, snugged them over his eyes. "All right, Cap?"
"Couldn't be better, Pfizer. Thanks." The young officer looked down at Randall, then looked away, stepped back from the litter and caught his companion's eye. They both glanced at Randall again, then shifted their eyes away. Randall snorted. "Good grief, you two," he rumbled from beneath the kerchief, "I've got a busted wing and a couple more holes than God intended. I'm not dead yet and got no plans to be. Stop looking so tragic."
Pfizer rested a hand on the butt of his pistol, realized that didn't look right, and put it in his pocket. "Just hate to see you go, Cap. Kinda got used to you. And you're the only one who knows how to talk to some of these locals. You got 'em to let us start building schools for the girls."
"Well, I'm not exactly jumping for joy at being evac'd out of here, either. But Doc says I've got to, and Operations backs him up." He flexed his fingers -- it was an odd sensation; they were numb, but he could feel them flopping around at the end of his hand. Nerve damage, he thought, and frowned beneath the checked kerchief. Doc warned about that.
"You'll be fine -- both of you. We've got some good projects started, they just need to be pushed through to the end."
Pfizer glanced at his companion, looked away, studying the MedEvac helicopter on the pad, about a hundred feet away. Rose shuffled his feet a little and said, "You know, Cap, Pfizer's right. You've been heading up this team for the last three years -- you smoked out the insurgents, talked to the local head men, then the councils -- you got them to accept us being here. And then you got them to accept us helping."
Randall twitched, an involuntary movement as though to wave off the comments, left incomplete because his arm was immobilized, held together by the miracles of modern battlefield surgery and careful slinging. "First of all, that's a load of crap, and you know it. You were with me the whole time, you know as much about this as I do -- we're all playing blind man's bluff out here, half the time."
"Huh-uh," Rose said forcefully. "I've seen you walk into those meetings, where we just knew we were going to get our butts handed to us -- and I've seen you walk out with their trust, if not their full support... not right away, anyway. You've done more to pull these folks out of the Dark Ages than anybody else ever has."
"He's right," Pfizer agreed, eyes turning back to Randall. "Sure, we've helped, but these last few years -- they're all you. Sir."
Randall was saved from having to answer when a Warrant Officer trotted up to them from the helicopter and held up two fingers. "We leave in two, Captain Randall."
Randall nodded to him, and he hurried back to the helicopter, now starting to whine as it was powered up. Blades began to swing around slowly, adding to the wind and the dust. "Look," Randall said after a moment, raising his voice to be heard above the helicopter's turbines, "I hear what you're saying -- I just think you're wrong. Hell, I know you're wrong. You two are the best I've ever worked with, and you'll get along just fine without me -- and I expect you to prove me right."
With his free hand, he wiped a film of dust off his goggles, pointed down the valley. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to be gone -- it's not really up to me. But while I'm gone I expect you and the men to work your butts off finishing what we started! We've got two schools going up, but there should be one more, at least. Somebody should be doing something about the wells, and the clinic, and the communications links, and the..." He trailed off, shrugged with his intact shoulder. "You get the idea. There's a million things left to do -- I'd've been working on them, if I was here, but I'm not going to be -- so that means you are."
Pfizer looked off toward the cluster of huts that was the nearest hamlet, sighed and shook his head. "As you say, Cap. But it's going to be a pain in the butt -- half these folks don't even like us."
"They don't have to like you, son. They just have to believe you're telling the truth. Be honest, and do some good for them, and they'll come along. I guarantee it."
"Right."
The Warrant Officer and another crewman returned, each took up one end of the litter -- and waited. In silence, the two junior officers shook Randall's left hand, then saluted as his litter was lifted. Randall chuckled and gave a halfhearted saluting motion with his left hand. As they carried him away, he shouted, "I'll be back, and don't you forget it! I expect to see miracles when I get back here!"
They said nothing, watched somberly as the litter was lifted into the helicopter and the door was slid shut. The great rotors picked up speed, becoming invisible behind the dust cloud, and the big craft began to stir, as though convincing itself to leave the ground. Overhead, a plane dropped half a dozen flares that lit the daylight sky as they drifted to earth -- each burning hotter than the exhaust from the big turbines that powered the helicopter... a precaution against ground-launched heat seeking missiles. The helicopter shoved itself up into the air and rotated, as though picking out its route -- then nosed forward and began climbing toward the hills, the roar of its turbines and the thwack-thwack-thwack of the blades fading slowly as it disappeared.
On the ground, Lieutenants Pfizer and Rose looked after it, staring as though they might be able to spot it even beyond the horizon. Eventually, Rose sighed. "Do you really think he's coming back?"
Pfizer grunted. "All I know is, he thinks he is -- and after three years, here, I'm not going to bet against it."
"Right. How long?"
"Doc couldn't say, when I asked him... said the rounds he took should've killed him, so everything after that is just guesswork."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He looked at Pfizer. "Then I guess we'd better get to work or there'll be the devil to pay when Randall gets back."
In the dusty, silent valley, the men began to plan... and count the days until Randall's return.
On the Wings of a Snow White Goose
by Frank Ramirez
Luke 24:44-53
While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.
-- Luke 24:51
Since time immemorial people have looked up at the moon. It's hard to ignore. It's up there, in the sky, and not only that, it's constantly changing as it goes through the phases.
The question of what it was may seem obvious to us now, but it must have taken a good deal of thinking before the ancient Greek astronomers figured out that the moon was a world of its own. That led to some speculation, even thousands of years ago, about what that world might be like, and who might live there.
An even more intriguing question, once the matter of it being a world up in the sky was settled, was how to get there, if you could get there at all. After all, people just don't rise into the air.
This thought brings us to Francis Godwin (1562-1633), a notable cleric in England during the time of Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth, and King James. He was admired for his learning. In 1601 he published a book with the rather dry title of Catalogue of the Bishops of England since the first planting of the Christian Religion in this Island, which was important and respectable enough to get him appointed bishop to Llandaff and Hereford. He also published Rerum Anclicarium, a ponderous Latin work that was later translated into English by his son under the title: Annales of England.
But evidently unbeknownst to anyone, he was working on a rather odd little book about a trip into space and back again. It was published after he was safely dead, in 1638, with the title The Man in the Moone or the Discourse of a Voyage thither by Domingo Gonsales. The narrator, a Spanish nobleman whose fortunes rise and fall during the account, points out that at one time travel to America was considered an impossible fantasy and that travel to the moon is no more fantastic, if one could only devise a way to get there.
Godwin's hero, taking a year's rest on an isolated island following a series of harrowing adventures, trains geese to carry him about through the air, and on one occasion, having been marooned and attacked on another island, the geese carry him beyond the earth and to the moon, for that, it turns out, is where many birds from earth winter.
His journey of many days through space is one of contentment -- he feels no hunger looking down on the earth as it circles below. Upon his arrival he discovers a world filled with very tall, long-lived, and well behaved people who are devout Christians. In this utopia people approach their death with peace and calm, since they know they are going to be with God, often holding a great party right before their passing to celebrate with their friends.
And if on the off chance a baby is born with a propensity for evil, they solve this problem by sending such an infant to be raised on earth, where, presumably, this aberrant behavior wouldn't be noticed!
Godwin wasn't the first or the last to wonder how one could travel through space. Eventually there would be those who actually solved the problem. But the Ascension of Jesus, as portrayed at the end of Luke's gospel and the beginning of his second volume known as the Acts of the Apostles, is accomplished without any outside help -- no engines, no birds, not even a chariot of fire. The risen Jesus rises heavenward on his own. It's a singular accomplishment.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
Jesus and Judas
by Lamar Massingill
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
I've often asked myself why it is that two children in the same family can grow up and both receive the nurture of the church, beginning a journey of giving gifts to our world, while the other child chooses to throw his life away. It's a complex question. Two children with the same parental and spiritual influences who turn out as different as night and day. It's probably a question we could never answer except to say that no matter what kinds of influences we come up with, we are ultimately responsible for the choices we make in our lives. In short, we choose our own place.
For example, about the time that Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem, there was also another baby born. There was probably just as much joy in the hearts of Simon of Carioth and his wife as there was in the hearts of Joseph and Mary. Joyfully, Joseph and Mary gave their son a name that expressed their hopes and the hopes of the world: "Jesus," which means "God saves." However, just as thankful to God, and just as hopeful for their son's future as well, Simon of Carioth and his wife named their son Judas, which means "the praise of God." So it was that Judas of Carioth, or in modern translation, Judas Iscariot had his hopeful beginning.
These two babies grew up, and as young men, their paths crossed creatively as Jesus called Judas to become one of his disciples. But during the events leading up to the death of Jesus, something happened to these two men in a most mysterious way. Jesus went on to fulfill his name, "God saves." Judas, however, not only betrayed Jesus, but betrayed his own name as well. "Praise of God" became "betrayer of God," and we will never know all of the mysterious reasons why Judas chose such a way.
In the stories of these two men, we have much the same situation as the two children growing up in the same family that started our journey today. History bears out that Jesus and Judas had the blessings of solid parental leadership, yet one became a destructive taker and the other a sacrificial giver. One fulfilled his name; one betrayed his name and his Lord, and not being able to handle the guilt of the whole sordid choice he himself had made, went out and hung himself.
What I am suggesting is that we humans, gifted with the sacred responsibility of choice, decide what our own place will be. After the resurrection of Jesus, this is what Peter said when the apostles gathered to pick a successor to fill the place of Judas. Peter did not call Judas a murderer or a thief or a reprobate. He simply said that "Judas turned aside and went to his own place." We don't even know where or what the place was. Peter doesn't say. What we do know is that it was his own place, and he ended up there by his own choice. Possibly the actions of Judas say more about his place than Peter could ever say. Possibly Peter didn't feel the need to harp on the weaknesses of others as he was having a hard enough time with his own. I have a hunch that Peter chose not to participate in judging Judas, because he remembered what Jesus said about the dangerous act of judging others. I just don't know. He and the apostles had every right to bad-mouth Judas, but not a word, simply, "He turned aside and went to his own place." No judgment here, but just a simple fact about choice. And ultimately, we all go to the place in life we have chosen. And it will, like the difference between Jesus and Judas, be a place of either creative fulfillment or destructive waste. For Jesus' part, he chose this place when, after an exhausting time of temptation by Satan in the desert, creativity and fulfillment won over greed and militant power. He fulfilled his name: "God saves." But Judas on the other hand, chose his place when he allowed greed to win over gratitude, and therefore wasted any love or creativity he could have given to God or God's world. He betrayed his name. Both had possibility, potential to give the best gifts to humanity, and one fulfilled his potential, and the other threw it away.
I can't tell you how important this type of choice is, and the life choices that follow as a result of choosing to give your life to the service of God and humanity. You and I choose our own place in the world. It's not like choosing what home we will live in or what area of the country we will live in. It's not like choosing what kind of car we will drive or what kind of computer we will use. The kind of choice I speak of is much more complicated and difficult than those. The choice I speak of has to do with how we will live our lives and give our gifts. It has to do with using creatively what gifts we have been given in the service of humanity or wasting them destructively in the service of greed.
Listen, Judas had all the potential in the world. His very name meant the "praise of God." But somewhere along his journey, he crossed some line, made some choice, and found himself too much in this world. The result was devastating. His gifts, potential, generosity, and talents wound up hanging dead on a lonesome tree limb. It reminds me of Don Henley's character Harry, who got up one morning, "dressed up in black/went down to the station/ and he never came back/ His clothes were found somewhere on down the track/ and he won't be on Wall Street in the morning. In a New York minute, everything can change. In a New York minute, life can get a little strange." And it begins with something as simple and complicated as a choice. It's not an easy world to live in. And the one thing that separates human beings from each other is the places they have claimed with their power to choose.
There is an old story about a man who found an eagle's egg and put it in the nest of a backyard hen. The eagle hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life he did what the backyard chickens did. He clucked, scratched the ground for food, spread his wings to fly, and always wound up about three feet off the ground. Years passed, and the eagle grew old. One day, he saw a magnificent bird high above him in a cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its wings. The old eagle was in awe as he looked up. "Who's that?" he asked his neighbor. "That's the eagle, the king of the birds," his neighbor told him. "He belongs to the sky, but we belong to the earth. We're just chickens. So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he thought he was."
Followers of Jesus are resurrection people. People of the sky. Choose the sky! You do have the power; yes the inevitability, of choosing your own place. God be with you, and... Brave journey!
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
What About Lotteries?
by John Sumwalt
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles.
-- Acts 1:26
A young preacher decided to preach about lotteries and began his sermon with the following words:
"I have been following the Power Ball Jack Pot all week. When it got up to 600 million I was tempted to go out and buy a ticket. I began to think about what I might do with all that money. I could buy a LED television with a sixty-inch screen, pay off the mortgage and the credit cards, give a couple of hundred dollars to the kids (I wouldn't want to spoil them), help take care of the hundreds of thousands of people who are homeless and jobless, help end world hunger, put a couple of million aside for retirement... Just imagine all the good that could be done with this kind of money.
"Then I got to thinking about the responsibility that goes with having that much cash: all the hands that would be held out. All the people who know me would be calling and knocking on my door. I have over 200 relatives and those are just the ones I know. It just seemed like too much. So I didn't buy a ticket. Besides, I was afraid that I might run into one of you at the ticket counter and how would I explain it to the bishop if I won? My dilemma reminds me of an old story about a farmer who was going bankrupt.
"He had once been one of the most successful farmers in the county but then the bottom fell out of the market and he was about to lose everything. This farmer was also a fine Christian man, active in the church all of his life. He taught Sunday school and sang in the choir. It occurred to him that Jesus said to ask for what you need and God will provide. So he got down on his knees beside the bed one night and prayed: 'God, please help me! I'm about to lose the farm and if I don't get some money soon, I won't have any income or a place to live. Please let me win the lottery.'
"The next day when the numbers were selected for the lottery there were no winners. The jack pot was increased to 700 million dollars. That night the farmer prayed again, 'Dear God, please let me win the lottery. I am losing the farm, my family is going to starve. I don't know what else to do.' The next day when the drawing was held there were still no winners. The jack pot was now over 800 million dollars, the largest prize in the history of lotteries.
"Once more he got down on his knees and prayed with all of his might: 'My God, why have you forsaken me? I am about to lose everything. The mortgage is due. I have no money to pay. I don't often ask you for help and I have always been a good servant to you. Please let me win the lottery just this one time so I can get my life back in order.'
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light as the heavens opened and the old farmer heard the voice of God, Almighty: 'Earl, work with me on this... buy a ticket!' "
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
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StoryShare, May 17 & 20, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
