The Feud
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Feud" by Keith Hewitt
"Two Mothering Pastors" by John Sumwalt
"A Time to Be Born Anew" by Frank Luchsinger
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The Feud
by Keith Hewitt
1 Peter 1:17-23
"So, you wish to build an airstrip."
It was a statement disguised as a question. The man who uttered it punctuated the sentence with an arched eyebrow, briefly obscured by the bandana with which he dabbed sweat from his face. He sat behind a desk that was bare, save for a lamp, an empty In/Out basket, and a green felt blotter that had seen better days. The desk was a symbol, not a working surface -- he had people to do the busy work, and no real need for a desk other than to say he was important, and to provide both a physical and psychological barrier between himself and whoever stood before him.
People like this Americano.
Sargosa studied the man -- this was their fourth or fifth meeting, and he still could not quite read him. Yes, the tall, lanky American was clearly some kind of do-gooder and always seemed eager to please... but there was something else. Something more behind those eyes that quick smile. He did not fit the profile of the others who had passed through before, pale skinned innocents with no idea of what life was really like.
The man looked back at him, a half-smile on his face, but did not answer.
Sargosa rocked back in his chair, the spring giving forth a single squeaking protest as he folded his hands over his belly and peered at the man. "So, is this true?" he asked -- this time, a question.
Randall nodded. "Yes, Magistrate. We want to be able to expand the mission, to offer more medical care, and it's going to be much more practical to bring in supplies and people by air. The journey by river is very long -- Vaca Muerto is very remote." When Randall and the others had come, it had been an eight-day journey by dugout canoe, pushing against the strong currents of the Rio Fangoso. A chartered steamer could have cut that time in half, but no owner would risk his boat in the shallows of the river.
"And you think this would be good for the local population?" Sargosa challenged. "They have lived their lives here for many years, Senor Randall, without the benefit of outside doctors -- or preachers. Just them, and us."
"Obviously the local tribes can get by without our help," Randall answered, choosing his words carefully, "but we have much to offer both your people and the local tribes. With the proper medicine and doctors, we can prevent people from dying needlessly, from infection and disease. The new penicillin drugs are quite remarkable."
The Magistrate shrugged. "Those who need help can get it now -- you underestimate the power of local healers, Senor Randall."
Randall bowed his head slightly. "Undoubtedly, Magistrate. But your own doctor only comes once a month, when he can get here, and the local tribesmen rarely have a chance to see him at all. Let me ask you: if one of your own becomes ill with fever, do you want them to wait for your traveling doctor? Or would you rather they were treated by a local medicine man?"
The Magistrate shrugged again. "Who is to say, Senor Randall? And, of course, you wish to expand your church, as well?"
Randall nodded. "Of course. We are here to heal body and soul."
"You have been here over nine months, Senor Randall. You know the indigenous peoples -- to them, clan is everything. You may wish to bring them to your God, but they will never believe in him as much as they believe in their clans, and their jungle gods. Your god will never mean as much, and whatever platitudes they may mouth in your church, they will always be what they have been for thousands of years. Savages." He paused, added piously, "Savages fully protected by the central government, of course, but savages nonetheless."
Randall just smiled. "People can change, Magistrate. They deserve a chance to hear the Gospel as much as anybody."
"Yes, the Gospel." The Magistrate seemed preoccupied for a moment or two, then rocked forward in his chair -- another squeak, loud in the tiny office. "I will tell you what, Senor Randall. I am a reasonable man. You believe in the power of these stories you tell, of these words you speak in church. I will give you a chance to prove it."
Randall's smile faded slightly. "Yes, Magistrate?" he asked cautiously.
"The Xlaca and Tama clans both attend your little church."
"Yes." They did -- just never together. By whatever mysterious means they had, families from each clan knew when the other would be there, and would not attend the service when they were. It was a long running feud, caused when somebody's ancestor wronged somebody else's... just who had done what was no longer important: the feud went on because both clans were raised to feud.
"There is talk that the government will be sending out mineral survey teams -- they will not be able to function in this area if they have to walk around on tiptoe so as not to inadvertently start a full-fledged war between Xlaca and Tama. Meet with the chieftains and solve this problem, and we will talk about your airstrip."
Randall shook his head. "But Magistrate, this feud has been going on for decades. How can I --?"
"Pray for a miracle, Senor Randall. I believe your god is supposed to be good at them, maybe you will be fortunate." Without another word, Sargosa inched forward in his chair, pulled some papers out of a desk drawer, and began to study them closely. Randall hesitated, then left, leaving the door open behind him.
He was pretty sure he could hear Sargosa laughing as he kick-started the motorbike that would take him back to the mission.
# # #
Two days later, Randall and Onchibo sat in the anteroom off the back of the chapel. Randall studied the man as they discussed the ways in which a move to agriculture might benefit the Tama clan: he was not much over five feet tall, thin without being emaciated, though his legs and arms showed subtle musculature. His upper chest and left arm were marked by tattoos in an elaborate design that was supposed to bring good fortune from both the God of Waters and the God of Storms. On his right cheek was a stylized jaguar -- the totem of the Tama clan.
Because he was in church, he wore a breechclout -- a cloth wound around his loins. In this case, it was a red and white checkered cloth that might have come off the table in a restaurant back in the States. Also because he was in church, his spear stood in the corner of the room, next to a file cabinet. Randall was thankful that they had been able to get this practice well established in the last nine months.
The discussion of agriculture was a pretext -- Randall tried to look at his watch without being too obvious and was dismayed to find that the appointed time had passed. He was beginning to wonder how he could set this up, again, when the door opened and another man entered the room: Minka was of the same build, with slightly lighter hair, adorned with beads. The tattoos that marched across his upper chest and flowed down his right arm honored the God of the Sky and the God of Birds, and on his left cheek was inked a plumed bird. The breechclout he wore had started service as a bed sheet in the little clinic that was part of the mission.
He stopped almost as soon as he crossed the threshold, half-raised his spear in surprise. He uttered an exclamation in the local dialect; then added in hasty Spanish, "What treachery is this?"
Randall -- anticipating this for two days -- was on his feet as Minka spoke. He raised one hand, held it open to signify that there were no weapons. "There is no treachery, Elder Minka," he answered quickly in Spanish. "I have asked you to come here with Elder Onchibo so that we might speak. Please, lower your spear."
"I have nothing to say to this -- this worm!" Onchibo was on his feet, now -- found his way to his spear blocked by Randall.
"Please -- you must listen," Randall said urgently.
Minka didn't lower his spear... but he didn't raise it further, either. Randall began to see at least a glimmer of unreasonable hope. He stumbled on, "I know you two do not want to be in the same room, but that is the only way I can talk to you both at the same time. It is the only way that you both will hear the same thing, at the same time. We need to talk."
"Xlaca and Tama have nothing to say to one another," Onchibo growled. Minka, almost in spite of himself, nodded agreement, and Randall almost smiled -- here, at least, was something they could agree on.
"That is fine for now," he said with deliberation, "as you are not required to talk -- just to listen. What I have to say affects both of your mighty clans. What is required is that Elder Minka gives up his spear -- puts it in the corner, away from his hand. And that both of you sit down, and listen. Do that, and we can be done with this."
Minka, after another careful look around to be sure there was no further threat of treachery, stepped forward and placed his spear in the corner, on the other side of the file cabinet. Still suspicious, he took one of the open chairs farthest from Onchibo.
Randall mentally wiped his brow and sat down in a chair that was midway between both men. He tried not to perch on the edge, but set himself back, so as to appear comfortable, and relaxed. "You elders of the Xlaca and Tama clans have been coming to the Great God's house for many months, now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You have not come together, but you have come separately, and you have brought many of your clansmen with you. For that, we are grateful. The Great God is grateful. But he knows that your great and powerful clans still fight one another and that causes pain to the Great God of All. He does not like to see his children fight."
Minka moved forward in his chair. "There are wrongs that must be righted, Senor Randall. There are sins that must be punished, and behavior that cannot be forgotten."
"We do not fight because was want to," Onchibo growled, "but because we have to. The wrongs that were done to my clan --"
"My clan!" Minka interrupted.
"-- cannot be overlooked. It is our duty to avenge them."
"As it is mine, too, to protect the honor of the Xlaca clan," Minka added.
"So this is how it is? You two cannot get along? Your clans cannot get along? You can't get by whatever started this, and live together without bloodshed?"
"It is how our gods will it." Minka agreed, while casting a sideways look at Onchibo, who nodded agreement.
Randall nodded and then settled back further in his chair. "All right, then," he said quietly. "Then let me tell you a story. A long time ago -- almost a hundred years -- there was a great war in my country. There were two sides -- two clans -- and they fought against one another with great anger, and great cruelty. It was a war that killed many thousands of people, of both clans."
Randall studied their faces as he talked, saw them both blink at the mention of many thousands of dead -- it was a number neither could really conceive of, and he guessed that they probably thought he was exaggerating; he did not bother mentioning that the dead really numbered in the hundreds of thousands as he described the great war.
"One clan had a man named Abraham as its leader -- a great man."
"Abraham -- one of the Great God's prophets," Minka observed.
"Yes, the same name, but it was not the same man. Anyhow, the one clan had Abraham as a leader, and they saw him to be a great and kind leader. Eventually, the war ended, and Abraham's clan won. Everybody thought that it would be a very bad time for the other clan -- but then Abraham proposed a peace that would bring both clans together, again, as one -- no more fighting, no more settling blood feuds. The people of the other clan thought that Abraham's plan was a just one, and they grew to love him, too. They respected him as a great leader, and saw great possibility for healing.
"Then one day a bad man -- a murderer -- killed Abraham. He did it because he thought it was what the other clan wanted, but he was wrong. You see, because both clans had come to see Abraham as a great leader, they no longer wanted war. They no longer wanted to settle scores, or get revenge. They wanted to come together in peace, the way he wanted them to -- to join together out of respect for the man they both admired."
Randall looked from face to face, and back again. "Because both clans had come to see Abraham as a great man, because they understood what he wanted them to do, they found a way to live in peace after he was martyred. There were still arguments, and things they had to settle, but they did it together. I tell you this story because you have both come to know Jesus, and from the moment you both accepted Jesus, the Son of the Great God, you were cleansed of your sins. And being cleansed, together, made you brothers in Christ, so you must find a way to live together in peace. It's what Jesus wants. Even when you're angry, you must love one another."
"But the feud --" Onchibo began.
"Your feud is gone -- washed away with your sins. I -- we -- will work with you to find ways to settle your disagreements. But I want your word, today, that as brothers in the family of Jesus, you will no longer make war against one another."
He waited in silence and then both men began to speak. It took a long time... afternoon faded to night before the two men -- the two brothers -- found a way to let go of their old ways and embrace new possibilities. It would be longer still before their clans would embrace one another, but the way was set, and Randall could report to the Magistrate that the feud had ended. Reluctantly -- and not without a little bemusement -- Magistrate Sargosa agreed that the strip could be built, allowing the little mission at Vaca Muerto to expand.
But he never did understand why it was named "Abraham's Airstrip."
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children.
Two Mothering Pastors
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
“I am your servant, Lord; I serve you just as my mother did.”
-- Psalm 116:16 (Good News Bible)
I lift up prayers of thanksgiving today for the lives of the two women who were the pastors of the Loyd Evangelical United Brethren Church (EUB) when I was born in 1951. In a time when women were not allowed to be ordained, they served as local pastors in a number of EUB churches in Wisconsin.
My mother tells me that Miss Sarah Mower baptized me sometime in the spring of 1951. Miss Matie Richardson officiated at my grandfather's funeral in 1961. Miss Mower and Miss Richardson, as they were always called, never reverend or pastor, were deeply revered in our community. I remember my grandmother saying their names with a kind of awe in her voice.
For some reason the bishop always appointed them to serve together, which worked out very well in our two-point charge. One would preach one week at Loyd and the other at Ithaca, eight miles down the road. The following Sunday they switched churches.
Pastoral calling and other duties were divided evenly. They lived together in the parsonage next to the Ithaca Church, and they are buried side by side in the Richland Center Cemetery.
To this day Miss Mower and Miss Richardson are remembered as favorite pastors of those congregations because they loved us so well. It's like the refrain in a popular song from a number of years back: "I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you come rain or come shine." They loved us unconditionally the way God loves us.
Miss Mower and Miss Richardson never married and never had any children except all of us in those two little country churches who came to know God because of the powerful way they loved us. They didn't need to be ordained to do that.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. 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.
A Time to Be Born Anew
by Frank Luchsinger
1 Peter 1:17-23
A man comes to Jesus by night, a ruler of the Jews; his name is Nicodemus. "Rabbi we know that you are come from God, for we have seen the signs that you do..." and if Nicodemus comes with a question he does not get it out before Jesus responds:
"Unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God."
"How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?" Nicodemus wonders aloud (John 3:1-4, author paraphrase).
And so the gospel of John places the question on the table: What does it mean to be born anew? First Peter makes the striking assertion that through Christ we have confidence in God and that we have "been born anew, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God..." (1 Peter 1:23).
So what does it mean to be born anew? We observe that folks in Christ's church have widely divergent points of view on the question. Have you been born anew; are you a Christian, born again? Important questions for us to revisit, because sometimes persons who long for and try to claim new life in Christ look like the life is being squeezed out of them and wonder if new life has been stillborn. How much difference should it make if I am born anew, if I confess Christ as Lord, profess to be a follower of Jesus?
Conventional wisdom suggests that it does not have to make much of a difference. You will get along better in the world if you take your religion in moderation, like the tanning booth and Haagen-Dazs ice cream. In fact, if one is born anew, one might be well advised to try not to act like it, for coworkers and friends could be put off by a newly born, newly saved person. You might not want to talk about being saved in polite company, because someone could become concerned that you would try to save him.
As an old lifeguard and teacher of lifeguards, I have to admit that these words create an odd ring in my ears. Before I was a lifeguard I was saved, and if I hadn't have been saved I would not be here preaching this sermon, and I would never have become a lifeguard or a teacher of lifesaving. I almost drowned as a kid and was saved, a story that is very interesting to me but one I will save for another day. The thing curious to me is that I have never met a person who was worried about being saved, if he or she needed to be saved.
Sometimes lifeguards save people before they are fully aware that they are in trouble. This usually happens with children. In shallow water a child, learning to swim and little by little gaining confidence, starts to bob. The child moves into deeper water still very much under control, but now gravity and inertia begin to take over. The bottom slopes away from the child's feet and the satisfied, confident expression on the child's face turns to uncertainty with a hint of worry. The experienced lifeguard knows two or three more bobs into deeper and deeper water and the uncertainty of the child will turn into uncontrolled panic and utter terror. Now is the time to act. If the lifeguard moves quickly, the guard can often reach the child before the child comprehends the reality of the danger.
Parents and grandparents of young children know this scenario well. They frequently act to protect and/or save young children from danger, often when the children don't understand the potential for trouble.
"The Church Is in the Saving Business"
It is hard to find common ground on this statement among Christians. Some will only agree that the church is in the saving business if we suggest that the church is here to save the poor from hunger and poverty, and the oppressed from the ravages of oppression and that this is how God saves. I could not agree more that this is a part of the church's saving agenda, but this does not get us off the hook when we are inclined to say with Nicodemus:
"How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?"
To be born anew, to be a Christian, born again, to be saved is a foreign notion to some, because they view themselves as having been good most of their lives, they have never been a criminal or an addict, and life has never been desperately out of control so that God's agent of grace had to dive into the raging waters of sin and despair to save. And if in hearing this you think "that's me," we say our prayer of thanksgiving that life for you has been good.
But it is also possible that some of us here are failing to give God the glory which is rightfully God's. "Can a man be born when he is old?" Nicodemus asks Christ. I want us for a few moments to think of "born anew" in a different frame. When was the last time you were borne?
When was the last time you were carried? I know this is a different kind of borne, it is spelled differently, but it will help us make our point.
When you were a baby, you were borne everywhere. When you were a child, maybe until you were ten or so, occasionally late at night you were borne to your bed and tucked in. When you had your accident, you were borne to the hospital. On your wedding day, you were borne to the church in fancy transportation. In your grief, you were borne by friends. In your education, you were borne by wonderful teachers. In your vocation, you are borne by all of the practitioners who went before you, by their invention, knowledge, and dedication. In your home, you are borne by tradition, common wisdom, commitment, and self-control. And when you are old, one day your body will be borne by loved ones and friends to a final resting place and your spirit will be borne to God on the wings of love.
Will you be borne anew? Of course you will, again and again. But whether or not you sense it, whether or not you see it, whether or not you understand it, this will make all the difference for you as you seek to know the One who came to save, the One who bears you up not only on your last day but also on this day, in these days.
Who would you be if God had not borne you and borne everyone you love? Who would you be now, this moment, if God did not continually bear you? Who will you be, how can you be, if beginning this instant God does not bear you?
We remember the story that is often told of a dreamer who is walking with the Lord on a beach. Across the skies flash scenes from his life and mostly during his life journey there are two sets of footprints in the sand. Many times though he notices only one set of footprints, especially at the lowest and saddest times. And the dreamer asks the Lord about this; "I noticed that in the saddest and lowest times only one set of footprints appeared. I thought you promised to walk with me always. Why is it that you left me, especially when I needed you?"
"Dear child, in your times of trial, I did not leave. You see one set of footprints; this is where I carried you."
A wonderful and meaningful story and it raises a question for us today. A question that gets close to the heart of the matter: "Can we imagine a time when in reality there is ever more than one set of footprints in the sand? When God Almighty did not carry us?"
Can we realize how much we have been saved? How much life and love is a gift? How the sustenance of this life is amazing grace?
Have you been born anew? If you have missed knowing how much you have been carried, then, probably not.
But if you have sensed how much you have been borne, how much you have been carried, how much you have been blessed, then... The answer is self-evident.
Early in his ministry Jesus was teaching in a house near the Sea of Galilee and the power of the Lord was upon him to heal. Now there was a paralyzed man who was being brought to Jesus by his friends on a bed. They sought to have Jesus lay hands upon the paralyzed man, but the house where Christ was teaching was filled, overflowing with people standing on tiptoes at doorways and windows trying to see and hear. So finding no way in, the loving friends carried the paralyzed man to the roof and handed him down with his bed through the ceiling tiles into the midst of the crowd before Jesus. Christ saw the love and the faith of this man and his friends and tenderly said, "Man, your sins are forgiven you." Now the Pharisees who were nearby were shocked. "Who can forgive sins but God only?" they thought. And seeing their questions, Jesus answered them, "Which is easier, to say, 'Your sins are forgiven you,' or to say, 'Rise and walk'?" And then he said to the man, "I say to you, rise, take up your bed and go home." And the man who had been hopelessly paralyzed rose from his bed, took up that on which he had lain, and went home (Luke 5:17-25, author paraphrase).
Is there ever really more than one set of footprints in the sand? Is there ever a time when God does not carry us? Do we believe that anything we say or do has an enduring quality?
Is any monument made with human hands fitting for the portals of eternity? Aren't the footprints we leave like the scratchings of a sparrow on the Rock of Gibraltar? The footprints in the sand and on the beach that endure are the footprints of God. The impression we are privileged to make is the impression of love left upon the heart of our loving Father, the etching of our faces and our lives left on the heart of our Parent who loves us and remembers us, cares for us, and watches over us. First Peter suggests, "Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere love of the brethren, love one another earnestly from the heart. You have been born anew, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God (1 Peter 1:22-23).
We have the great and glorious chance to make our lasting, loving impression when we understand how God has borne us in every moment, and we open our hearts to God in love. God loves us and remembers us with fondness and tenderness when we love one another, when we carry each other as He has carried us even on the bed of our paralysis to the place of grace to be touched and healed and made whole. Do you understand how God has borne us, has carried us, has claimed us, has called and saved us from spending the gift of life pursuing things other than His love?
The Easter season is a time when we proclaim Christ's victory, when we name God victorious. May he also be victorious in every one of us as God bears us up not only in times of trial, not only in times of paralysis and pain, but also in times of carefree wandering, traveling, and reveling in the paths God allows us to choose until that day when earthly life and light grow dim and He bears us up to take us home.
(from Love Is Your Disguise, Second Lesson Sermons For Lent/Easter [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing, Co., 1997], pp. 73-78)
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StoryShare, May 8, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"The Feud" by Keith Hewitt
"Two Mothering Pastors" by John Sumwalt
"A Time to Be Born Anew" by Frank Luchsinger
* * * * * * * *
The Feud
by Keith Hewitt
1 Peter 1:17-23
"So, you wish to build an airstrip."
It was a statement disguised as a question. The man who uttered it punctuated the sentence with an arched eyebrow, briefly obscured by the bandana with which he dabbed sweat from his face. He sat behind a desk that was bare, save for a lamp, an empty In/Out basket, and a green felt blotter that had seen better days. The desk was a symbol, not a working surface -- he had people to do the busy work, and no real need for a desk other than to say he was important, and to provide both a physical and psychological barrier between himself and whoever stood before him.
People like this Americano.
Sargosa studied the man -- this was their fourth or fifth meeting, and he still could not quite read him. Yes, the tall, lanky American was clearly some kind of do-gooder and always seemed eager to please... but there was something else. Something more behind those eyes that quick smile. He did not fit the profile of the others who had passed through before, pale skinned innocents with no idea of what life was really like.
The man looked back at him, a half-smile on his face, but did not answer.
Sargosa rocked back in his chair, the spring giving forth a single squeaking protest as he folded his hands over his belly and peered at the man. "So, is this true?" he asked -- this time, a question.
Randall nodded. "Yes, Magistrate. We want to be able to expand the mission, to offer more medical care, and it's going to be much more practical to bring in supplies and people by air. The journey by river is very long -- Vaca Muerto is very remote." When Randall and the others had come, it had been an eight-day journey by dugout canoe, pushing against the strong currents of the Rio Fangoso. A chartered steamer could have cut that time in half, but no owner would risk his boat in the shallows of the river.
"And you think this would be good for the local population?" Sargosa challenged. "They have lived their lives here for many years, Senor Randall, without the benefit of outside doctors -- or preachers. Just them, and us."
"Obviously the local tribes can get by without our help," Randall answered, choosing his words carefully, "but we have much to offer both your people and the local tribes. With the proper medicine and doctors, we can prevent people from dying needlessly, from infection and disease. The new penicillin drugs are quite remarkable."
The Magistrate shrugged. "Those who need help can get it now -- you underestimate the power of local healers, Senor Randall."
Randall bowed his head slightly. "Undoubtedly, Magistrate. But your own doctor only comes once a month, when he can get here, and the local tribesmen rarely have a chance to see him at all. Let me ask you: if one of your own becomes ill with fever, do you want them to wait for your traveling doctor? Or would you rather they were treated by a local medicine man?"
The Magistrate shrugged again. "Who is to say, Senor Randall? And, of course, you wish to expand your church, as well?"
Randall nodded. "Of course. We are here to heal body and soul."
"You have been here over nine months, Senor Randall. You know the indigenous peoples -- to them, clan is everything. You may wish to bring them to your God, but they will never believe in him as much as they believe in their clans, and their jungle gods. Your god will never mean as much, and whatever platitudes they may mouth in your church, they will always be what they have been for thousands of years. Savages." He paused, added piously, "Savages fully protected by the central government, of course, but savages nonetheless."
Randall just smiled. "People can change, Magistrate. They deserve a chance to hear the Gospel as much as anybody."
"Yes, the Gospel." The Magistrate seemed preoccupied for a moment or two, then rocked forward in his chair -- another squeak, loud in the tiny office. "I will tell you what, Senor Randall. I am a reasonable man. You believe in the power of these stories you tell, of these words you speak in church. I will give you a chance to prove it."
Randall's smile faded slightly. "Yes, Magistrate?" he asked cautiously.
"The Xlaca and Tama clans both attend your little church."
"Yes." They did -- just never together. By whatever mysterious means they had, families from each clan knew when the other would be there, and would not attend the service when they were. It was a long running feud, caused when somebody's ancestor wronged somebody else's... just who had done what was no longer important: the feud went on because both clans were raised to feud.
"There is talk that the government will be sending out mineral survey teams -- they will not be able to function in this area if they have to walk around on tiptoe so as not to inadvertently start a full-fledged war between Xlaca and Tama. Meet with the chieftains and solve this problem, and we will talk about your airstrip."
Randall shook his head. "But Magistrate, this feud has been going on for decades. How can I --?"
"Pray for a miracle, Senor Randall. I believe your god is supposed to be good at them, maybe you will be fortunate." Without another word, Sargosa inched forward in his chair, pulled some papers out of a desk drawer, and began to study them closely. Randall hesitated, then left, leaving the door open behind him.
He was pretty sure he could hear Sargosa laughing as he kick-started the motorbike that would take him back to the mission.
# # #
Two days later, Randall and Onchibo sat in the anteroom off the back of the chapel. Randall studied the man as they discussed the ways in which a move to agriculture might benefit the Tama clan: he was not much over five feet tall, thin without being emaciated, though his legs and arms showed subtle musculature. His upper chest and left arm were marked by tattoos in an elaborate design that was supposed to bring good fortune from both the God of Waters and the God of Storms. On his right cheek was a stylized jaguar -- the totem of the Tama clan.
Because he was in church, he wore a breechclout -- a cloth wound around his loins. In this case, it was a red and white checkered cloth that might have come off the table in a restaurant back in the States. Also because he was in church, his spear stood in the corner of the room, next to a file cabinet. Randall was thankful that they had been able to get this practice well established in the last nine months.
The discussion of agriculture was a pretext -- Randall tried to look at his watch without being too obvious and was dismayed to find that the appointed time had passed. He was beginning to wonder how he could set this up, again, when the door opened and another man entered the room: Minka was of the same build, with slightly lighter hair, adorned with beads. The tattoos that marched across his upper chest and flowed down his right arm honored the God of the Sky and the God of Birds, and on his left cheek was inked a plumed bird. The breechclout he wore had started service as a bed sheet in the little clinic that was part of the mission.
He stopped almost as soon as he crossed the threshold, half-raised his spear in surprise. He uttered an exclamation in the local dialect; then added in hasty Spanish, "What treachery is this?"
Randall -- anticipating this for two days -- was on his feet as Minka spoke. He raised one hand, held it open to signify that there were no weapons. "There is no treachery, Elder Minka," he answered quickly in Spanish. "I have asked you to come here with Elder Onchibo so that we might speak. Please, lower your spear."
"I have nothing to say to this -- this worm!" Onchibo was on his feet, now -- found his way to his spear blocked by Randall.
"Please -- you must listen," Randall said urgently.
Minka didn't lower his spear... but he didn't raise it further, either. Randall began to see at least a glimmer of unreasonable hope. He stumbled on, "I know you two do not want to be in the same room, but that is the only way I can talk to you both at the same time. It is the only way that you both will hear the same thing, at the same time. We need to talk."
"Xlaca and Tama have nothing to say to one another," Onchibo growled. Minka, almost in spite of himself, nodded agreement, and Randall almost smiled -- here, at least, was something they could agree on.
"That is fine for now," he said with deliberation, "as you are not required to talk -- just to listen. What I have to say affects both of your mighty clans. What is required is that Elder Minka gives up his spear -- puts it in the corner, away from his hand. And that both of you sit down, and listen. Do that, and we can be done with this."
Minka, after another careful look around to be sure there was no further threat of treachery, stepped forward and placed his spear in the corner, on the other side of the file cabinet. Still suspicious, he took one of the open chairs farthest from Onchibo.
Randall mentally wiped his brow and sat down in a chair that was midway between both men. He tried not to perch on the edge, but set himself back, so as to appear comfortable, and relaxed. "You elders of the Xlaca and Tama clans have been coming to the Great God's house for many months, now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You have not come together, but you have come separately, and you have brought many of your clansmen with you. For that, we are grateful. The Great God is grateful. But he knows that your great and powerful clans still fight one another and that causes pain to the Great God of All. He does not like to see his children fight."
Minka moved forward in his chair. "There are wrongs that must be righted, Senor Randall. There are sins that must be punished, and behavior that cannot be forgotten."
"We do not fight because was want to," Onchibo growled, "but because we have to. The wrongs that were done to my clan --"
"My clan!" Minka interrupted.
"-- cannot be overlooked. It is our duty to avenge them."
"As it is mine, too, to protect the honor of the Xlaca clan," Minka added.
"So this is how it is? You two cannot get along? Your clans cannot get along? You can't get by whatever started this, and live together without bloodshed?"
"It is how our gods will it." Minka agreed, while casting a sideways look at Onchibo, who nodded agreement.
Randall nodded and then settled back further in his chair. "All right, then," he said quietly. "Then let me tell you a story. A long time ago -- almost a hundred years -- there was a great war in my country. There were two sides -- two clans -- and they fought against one another with great anger, and great cruelty. It was a war that killed many thousands of people, of both clans."
Randall studied their faces as he talked, saw them both blink at the mention of many thousands of dead -- it was a number neither could really conceive of, and he guessed that they probably thought he was exaggerating; he did not bother mentioning that the dead really numbered in the hundreds of thousands as he described the great war.
"One clan had a man named Abraham as its leader -- a great man."
"Abraham -- one of the Great God's prophets," Minka observed.
"Yes, the same name, but it was not the same man. Anyhow, the one clan had Abraham as a leader, and they saw him to be a great and kind leader. Eventually, the war ended, and Abraham's clan won. Everybody thought that it would be a very bad time for the other clan -- but then Abraham proposed a peace that would bring both clans together, again, as one -- no more fighting, no more settling blood feuds. The people of the other clan thought that Abraham's plan was a just one, and they grew to love him, too. They respected him as a great leader, and saw great possibility for healing.
"Then one day a bad man -- a murderer -- killed Abraham. He did it because he thought it was what the other clan wanted, but he was wrong. You see, because both clans had come to see Abraham as a great leader, they no longer wanted war. They no longer wanted to settle scores, or get revenge. They wanted to come together in peace, the way he wanted them to -- to join together out of respect for the man they both admired."
Randall looked from face to face, and back again. "Because both clans had come to see Abraham as a great man, because they understood what he wanted them to do, they found a way to live in peace after he was martyred. There were still arguments, and things they had to settle, but they did it together. I tell you this story because you have both come to know Jesus, and from the moment you both accepted Jesus, the Son of the Great God, you were cleansed of your sins. And being cleansed, together, made you brothers in Christ, so you must find a way to live together in peace. It's what Jesus wants. Even when you're angry, you must love one another."
"But the feud --" Onchibo began.
"Your feud is gone -- washed away with your sins. I -- we -- will work with you to find ways to settle your disagreements. But I want your word, today, that as brothers in the family of Jesus, you will no longer make war against one another."
He waited in silence and then both men began to speak. It took a long time... afternoon faded to night before the two men -- the two brothers -- found a way to let go of their old ways and embrace new possibilities. It would be longer still before their clans would embrace one another, but the way was set, and Randall could report to the Magistrate that the feud had ended. Reluctantly -- and not without a little bemusement -- Magistrate Sargosa agreed that the strip could be built, allowing the little mission at Vaca Muerto to expand.
But he never did understand why it was named "Abraham's Airstrip."
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children.
Two Mothering Pastors
by John Sumwalt
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
“I am your servant, Lord; I serve you just as my mother did.”
-- Psalm 116:16 (Good News Bible)
I lift up prayers of thanksgiving today for the lives of the two women who were the pastors of the Loyd Evangelical United Brethren Church (EUB) when I was born in 1951. In a time when women were not allowed to be ordained, they served as local pastors in a number of EUB churches in Wisconsin.
My mother tells me that Miss Sarah Mower baptized me sometime in the spring of 1951. Miss Matie Richardson officiated at my grandfather's funeral in 1961. Miss Mower and Miss Richardson, as they were always called, never reverend or pastor, were deeply revered in our community. I remember my grandmother saying their names with a kind of awe in her voice.
For some reason the bishop always appointed them to serve together, which worked out very well in our two-point charge. One would preach one week at Loyd and the other at Ithaca, eight miles down the road. The following Sunday they switched churches.
Pastoral calling and other duties were divided evenly. They lived together in the parsonage next to the Ithaca Church, and they are buried side by side in the Richland Center Cemetery.
To this day Miss Mower and Miss Richardson are remembered as favorite pastors of those congregations because they loved us so well. It's like the refrain in a popular song from a number of years back: "I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you come rain or come shine." They loved us unconditionally the way God loves us.
Miss Mower and Miss Richardson never married and never had any children except all of us in those two little country churches who came to know God because of the powerful way they loved us. They didn't need to be ordained to do that.
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. 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.
A Time to Be Born Anew
by Frank Luchsinger
1 Peter 1:17-23
A man comes to Jesus by night, a ruler of the Jews; his name is Nicodemus. "Rabbi we know that you are come from God, for we have seen the signs that you do..." and if Nicodemus comes with a question he does not get it out before Jesus responds:
"Unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God."
"How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?" Nicodemus wonders aloud (John 3:1-4, author paraphrase).
And so the gospel of John places the question on the table: What does it mean to be born anew? First Peter makes the striking assertion that through Christ we have confidence in God and that we have "been born anew, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God..." (1 Peter 1:23).
So what does it mean to be born anew? We observe that folks in Christ's church have widely divergent points of view on the question. Have you been born anew; are you a Christian, born again? Important questions for us to revisit, because sometimes persons who long for and try to claim new life in Christ look like the life is being squeezed out of them and wonder if new life has been stillborn. How much difference should it make if I am born anew, if I confess Christ as Lord, profess to be a follower of Jesus?
Conventional wisdom suggests that it does not have to make much of a difference. You will get along better in the world if you take your religion in moderation, like the tanning booth and Haagen-Dazs ice cream. In fact, if one is born anew, one might be well advised to try not to act like it, for coworkers and friends could be put off by a newly born, newly saved person. You might not want to talk about being saved in polite company, because someone could become concerned that you would try to save him.
As an old lifeguard and teacher of lifeguards, I have to admit that these words create an odd ring in my ears. Before I was a lifeguard I was saved, and if I hadn't have been saved I would not be here preaching this sermon, and I would never have become a lifeguard or a teacher of lifesaving. I almost drowned as a kid and was saved, a story that is very interesting to me but one I will save for another day. The thing curious to me is that I have never met a person who was worried about being saved, if he or she needed to be saved.
Sometimes lifeguards save people before they are fully aware that they are in trouble. This usually happens with children. In shallow water a child, learning to swim and little by little gaining confidence, starts to bob. The child moves into deeper water still very much under control, but now gravity and inertia begin to take over. The bottom slopes away from the child's feet and the satisfied, confident expression on the child's face turns to uncertainty with a hint of worry. The experienced lifeguard knows two or three more bobs into deeper and deeper water and the uncertainty of the child will turn into uncontrolled panic and utter terror. Now is the time to act. If the lifeguard moves quickly, the guard can often reach the child before the child comprehends the reality of the danger.
Parents and grandparents of young children know this scenario well. They frequently act to protect and/or save young children from danger, often when the children don't understand the potential for trouble.
"The Church Is in the Saving Business"
It is hard to find common ground on this statement among Christians. Some will only agree that the church is in the saving business if we suggest that the church is here to save the poor from hunger and poverty, and the oppressed from the ravages of oppression and that this is how God saves. I could not agree more that this is a part of the church's saving agenda, but this does not get us off the hook when we are inclined to say with Nicodemus:
"How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?"
To be born anew, to be a Christian, born again, to be saved is a foreign notion to some, because they view themselves as having been good most of their lives, they have never been a criminal or an addict, and life has never been desperately out of control so that God's agent of grace had to dive into the raging waters of sin and despair to save. And if in hearing this you think "that's me," we say our prayer of thanksgiving that life for you has been good.
But it is also possible that some of us here are failing to give God the glory which is rightfully God's. "Can a man be born when he is old?" Nicodemus asks Christ. I want us for a few moments to think of "born anew" in a different frame. When was the last time you were borne?
When was the last time you were carried? I know this is a different kind of borne, it is spelled differently, but it will help us make our point.
When you were a baby, you were borne everywhere. When you were a child, maybe until you were ten or so, occasionally late at night you were borne to your bed and tucked in. When you had your accident, you were borne to the hospital. On your wedding day, you were borne to the church in fancy transportation. In your grief, you were borne by friends. In your education, you were borne by wonderful teachers. In your vocation, you are borne by all of the practitioners who went before you, by their invention, knowledge, and dedication. In your home, you are borne by tradition, common wisdom, commitment, and self-control. And when you are old, one day your body will be borne by loved ones and friends to a final resting place and your spirit will be borne to God on the wings of love.
Will you be borne anew? Of course you will, again and again. But whether or not you sense it, whether or not you see it, whether or not you understand it, this will make all the difference for you as you seek to know the One who came to save, the One who bears you up not only on your last day but also on this day, in these days.
Who would you be if God had not borne you and borne everyone you love? Who would you be now, this moment, if God did not continually bear you? Who will you be, how can you be, if beginning this instant God does not bear you?
We remember the story that is often told of a dreamer who is walking with the Lord on a beach. Across the skies flash scenes from his life and mostly during his life journey there are two sets of footprints in the sand. Many times though he notices only one set of footprints, especially at the lowest and saddest times. And the dreamer asks the Lord about this; "I noticed that in the saddest and lowest times only one set of footprints appeared. I thought you promised to walk with me always. Why is it that you left me, especially when I needed you?"
"Dear child, in your times of trial, I did not leave. You see one set of footprints; this is where I carried you."
A wonderful and meaningful story and it raises a question for us today. A question that gets close to the heart of the matter: "Can we imagine a time when in reality there is ever more than one set of footprints in the sand? When God Almighty did not carry us?"
Can we realize how much we have been saved? How much life and love is a gift? How the sustenance of this life is amazing grace?
Have you been born anew? If you have missed knowing how much you have been carried, then, probably not.
But if you have sensed how much you have been borne, how much you have been carried, how much you have been blessed, then... The answer is self-evident.
Early in his ministry Jesus was teaching in a house near the Sea of Galilee and the power of the Lord was upon him to heal. Now there was a paralyzed man who was being brought to Jesus by his friends on a bed. They sought to have Jesus lay hands upon the paralyzed man, but the house where Christ was teaching was filled, overflowing with people standing on tiptoes at doorways and windows trying to see and hear. So finding no way in, the loving friends carried the paralyzed man to the roof and handed him down with his bed through the ceiling tiles into the midst of the crowd before Jesus. Christ saw the love and the faith of this man and his friends and tenderly said, "Man, your sins are forgiven you." Now the Pharisees who were nearby were shocked. "Who can forgive sins but God only?" they thought. And seeing their questions, Jesus answered them, "Which is easier, to say, 'Your sins are forgiven you,' or to say, 'Rise and walk'?" And then he said to the man, "I say to you, rise, take up your bed and go home." And the man who had been hopelessly paralyzed rose from his bed, took up that on which he had lain, and went home (Luke 5:17-25, author paraphrase).
Is there ever really more than one set of footprints in the sand? Is there ever a time when God does not carry us? Do we believe that anything we say or do has an enduring quality?
Is any monument made with human hands fitting for the portals of eternity? Aren't the footprints we leave like the scratchings of a sparrow on the Rock of Gibraltar? The footprints in the sand and on the beach that endure are the footprints of God. The impression we are privileged to make is the impression of love left upon the heart of our loving Father, the etching of our faces and our lives left on the heart of our Parent who loves us and remembers us, cares for us, and watches over us. First Peter suggests, "Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere love of the brethren, love one another earnestly from the heart. You have been born anew, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God (1 Peter 1:22-23).
We have the great and glorious chance to make our lasting, loving impression when we understand how God has borne us in every moment, and we open our hearts to God in love. God loves us and remembers us with fondness and tenderness when we love one another, when we carry each other as He has carried us even on the bed of our paralysis to the place of grace to be touched and healed and made whole. Do you understand how God has borne us, has carried us, has claimed us, has called and saved us from spending the gift of life pursuing things other than His love?
The Easter season is a time when we proclaim Christ's victory, when we name God victorious. May he also be victorious in every one of us as God bears us up not only in times of trial, not only in times of paralysis and pain, but also in times of carefree wandering, traveling, and reveling in the paths God allows us to choose until that day when earthly life and light grow dim and He bears us up to take us home.
(from Love Is Your Disguise, Second Lesson Sermons For Lent/Easter [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing, Co., 1997], pp. 73-78)
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StoryShare, May 8, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
