First Corinthians Thirteen One Way Or The Other
Stories
Contents
“First Corinthians Thirteen One Way Or The Other” by David O. Bales
“An Indecisive Day In Nazareth” by David O. Bales
First Corinthians Thirteen One Way Or The Other
by David O. Bales
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
From the corner of her eye Eleanor saw her 14 year old brother Gilmer brought into the room again. He was loving the attention of her friends with his hair short around the sides and topknot flopping. He’d spent the afternoon shuttling messages between the groom’s and the bride’s party, enjoying peeking on the bridesmaids in their off the shoulder pastel dresses. He came to Eleanor with a paper and his important voice, “Hey Sis, here’s the wedding service hot off the press.”
“Thanks, Gilmer,” she gave him a sideways hug that wouldn’t crush her dress. “Tell the guys we’re on schedule here,” which was more hope than reality. He dashed away and Eleanor looked at the remains of the afternoon strung on chairs, tilting on hangers, strewn across tables and spilling onto the floor — curling irons, small suitcases leaking beauty products, brushes, curling irons, floppy layers of filmy plastic that recently covered dresses, and tossed off female garments which, no matter how hard her mother tried, she couldn’t keep picked up and out of Gilmer’s view.
Her mother returned to work on the back of Eleanor’s hair, “repairing it,” as best she could, she kidded. “It’ll be okay,” her mother said and pushed in another tuft.
To take her mind off the high pitched chaos, Eleanor opened the order of service and nearly retched. “Mother!” she screamed, startling the bridesmaids and causing her mother to drop her comb. “He did it. The crumb!”
“Sh, sh, sh,” her mother leaped up in front of Eleanor, waving a hand toward everyone to get back to what they were doing or at least to pretend to. “What?”
“Pastor Monty.” That said enough. Eleanor didn’t like Pastor Monty, nor did Trina, her maid of honor. Trina called him “The Full Monty” because he was so full of himself and said, “I’d rather chip dog manure from my hiking boots than listen to him.”
Eleanor held out the order of service to her mother and said, “Scripture.” Her mother looked and gasped. There in bold print: 1 Corinthians 13.
In the premarital meetings with Eleanor and Randy, Pastor Monty talked about his first marriage, divorce, and second marriage and said that during the wedding service he always spoke about love and forgiveness from 1 Corinthians 13.
“I told him I was sick of 1 Corinthians 13. Heard it at every wedding. I said I’d read 1 Corinthians and that blessed thirteenth chapter of his was certainly not about weddings. It was about a church fight. I insisted. ‘You’ve got the whole rest of the Bible,’ I said, and he waffled some, but he definitely agreed.”
Her mother, from behind her again, could see that Eleanor was red from the top of her head to her shoulders. Her mother tucked a strand of hair into place and sprayed it. “It’s too late to change anything. Just gotta’ let this go.”
Eleanor, however, wasn’t letting this go. Her mind roiled. She’d only agreed to be married in Randy’s church because Randy’s parents insisted. Randy tried to mollify her, “There’s all kinds of pastors as there’s all kinds of people.” Yes, she thought, but some pastors come off as sub-Christian religious officials, at best perhaps merely forgetful or, worse, as only slightly better than benevolent despots.
She was doing her best to stand upright while her viscera churned. This was personal, not a matter of the “office of pastor,” as Randy’s parents said when they implored her compliance with Pastor Monty. This is Randy’s and her wedding, not Pastor Monty’s. Granted, he was the pastor, but he had agreed. Is there some loop-hole for pastors, permitting them to do as they choose? Do they get to trample merrily the feelings of others because of their “office” of pastor?
Her mind did a couple more flips, reminding herself she was a Christian and asking what she should do in these circumstances. That was almost too difficult to consider. Friends and relatives were at this moment tumbling into the building. She envisioned when, and how, she could confront Pastor Monty, in a blink fantasizing scenario after scenario. She became functionally blind, because it took three seconds to realize that Trina was standing in front of her. Trina laid her hand on Eleanor’s arm, “You okay?”
She regained enough awareness to open the bulletin and use her newly airbrushed finger nail to touch: “Scripture.” Trina popped her eyes wide open and sucked in her breath through her teeth. Yet she said nothing, just closed her eyes, clasped her hands in front of her forehead, and slowly turned away. Yes, Eleanor thought, what’s left but prayer? I’m trapped. I can’t ruin this day for Randy or anyone else. Nothing to do but swallow the humiliation, pray, and trust that God will use time to heal and forgive. “But God,” she silently prayed. “God, you listening? I’m filing my complaint. This is the closest I can approximate to love, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to worship in this congregation again while Pastor Monty is here.”
Preaching Point: Christian love must somehow operate in any circumstance.
* * *
An Indecisive Day In Nazareth
by David O. Bales
Luke 4:21-30
Zoma heard old Nehorai telling his group of grey beards, “the boy has changed.” He knew they were talking about Jesus; but Zoma was never one to speak up and disagree with people. He kept walking, not wanting to be trapped by this cluster of old fellows who were so hostile to gossips that every morning they swapped stories of who was gossiping. Doesn’t everyone change, he thought, especially young people? Of course Jesus was middle-aged now, ten years older than Zoma, but he’d traveled far beyond lower Galilee, further than he and Zoma have ever been together. No wonder he’d changed.
When Joseph was alive, he, Jesus, and Zoma worked together for two years. An hour’s walk took them to their site in the city of Sepphoris. They constructed walls and roofs on houses and palaces. Those were the best years of Zoma’s life, exciting because he was with Jesus and they were out of their village and in the larger world.
One day as they lugged their sacks of tools on the road to Sepphoris Zoma told Jesus the drought was threatening his uncle’s crops. Zoma’s family was helping as much as possible, but it was a stretch to provision them. Jesus pointed to the flowers beside the path, “Don’t worry. Think about these growing flowers. If God clothes the grass of the field, will he not much more clothe your faithful family?” Then Jesus smiled, helping Zoma to trust that he was right.
Another day as the three of them walked, Jesus was in one of his long silences, staring far up the trail. Joseph was ten paces behind and spoke to him but he didn’t seem to hear. Zoma tapped Jesus’ arm and he could tell he’d ruined Jesus’ concentration. It seemed that Jesus was always smiling or concentrating seriously on something. “I’m sorry,” Zoma said.
“That’s alright,” Jesus answered.
“Your father,” Zoma said and pointed to Joseph trailing them.
Jesus said, “I was talking with my heavenly father.”
Then Jesus smiled and made Zoma doubly confused. He said, “We were talking about you.”
During the hours of walking the three always discussed the scripture readings from the Sabbath gathering. Joseph often just listened to the two younger males sharing their thoughts, hopes, and wonderings. Their work and walk together ended when Joseph died suddenly. Jesus found work closer to home in order to help with his younger brothers and sisters. Zoma continued laboring in Sepphoris but it was no longer as joyful as when Jesus was there. Then Jesus had left Nazareth, gone to meet his cousin John, knee deep in the Jordan’s destiny, and soon he was off preaching himself.
What was Jesus like now? Had he really changed? What had become of his strange power? Once Zoma fell from a rafter, landing on one foot and spraining his ankle as never before. The pain was terrible and his fellow workers feared it was broken. When Jesus came on the scene, he touched the ankle and smiled. The worst pain left immediately. In three days it was as though Zoma had never fallen. Zoma yearned to see Jesus’ smile again.
On Friday evening Zoma had barely been able to dash home from work before the Sabbath sundown. He found his family excited that Jesus was home and would speak in the synagogue gathering the next day. Zoma longed to go see him, but he didn’t butt into Jesus’ time with his family.
Now on the Sabbath morning Zoma was held back by the older men in the crowd. He strained to catch Jesus’ eye as the elders led their village luminary to the Sabbath gathering. He knew that if Jesus noticed him, he wouldn’t leap out of the group to initiate the elaborate greeting ritual; but he expected that he’d at least smile.
As the elders’ turned into the synagogue gathering, Jesus spied Zoma. He gave his fingers a little hello, but no smile. He seemed occupied by the surrounding elders and that he was designated to read and speak about the scripture. After he spoke all went well at first, but the crowd began to grumble when Jesus declared that the scripture was about him. Then Jesus’ response that God was gracious to people beyond Israel completely repulsed them.
Jesus was criticizing Zoma’s village. Zoma stepped back as the anger at Jesus rose to shouting. Then they seized him. What was happening? What was Zoma supposed to do? Jesus was his friend but he’d intentionally insulted the village. Were these old men right that Jesus had changed for the worse? Is this what happens when one goes even farther from Nazareth than Sepphoris?
They were screaming furiously as they clutched him, hands yanking on his clothes, tugging his hair, and pulling on his arms, nearly dragging him. They came toward Zoma, kicking up a cloud of dust. Zoma stood undecidedly, almost dancing from one foot to the other. What should he do? Help Jesus? He certainly couldn’t help these men who suddenly turned violent. He felt paralyzed. As the group dragged Jesus beside him, Jesus looked squarely in Zoma’s face… and grimly smiled. Then he stood free from their grasp and went on his way.
Preaching Point: Familiarity with Jesus doesn’t mean he won’t confuse or offend us.
*****************************************
StoryShare, February 3, 2019 issue.
Copyright 2019 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.
“First Corinthians Thirteen One Way Or The Other” by David O. Bales
“An Indecisive Day In Nazareth” by David O. Bales
First Corinthians Thirteen One Way Or The Other
by David O. Bales
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
From the corner of her eye Eleanor saw her 14 year old brother Gilmer brought into the room again. He was loving the attention of her friends with his hair short around the sides and topknot flopping. He’d spent the afternoon shuttling messages between the groom’s and the bride’s party, enjoying peeking on the bridesmaids in their off the shoulder pastel dresses. He came to Eleanor with a paper and his important voice, “Hey Sis, here’s the wedding service hot off the press.”
“Thanks, Gilmer,” she gave him a sideways hug that wouldn’t crush her dress. “Tell the guys we’re on schedule here,” which was more hope than reality. He dashed away and Eleanor looked at the remains of the afternoon strung on chairs, tilting on hangers, strewn across tables and spilling onto the floor — curling irons, small suitcases leaking beauty products, brushes, curling irons, floppy layers of filmy plastic that recently covered dresses, and tossed off female garments which, no matter how hard her mother tried, she couldn’t keep picked up and out of Gilmer’s view.
Her mother returned to work on the back of Eleanor’s hair, “repairing it,” as best she could, she kidded. “It’ll be okay,” her mother said and pushed in another tuft.
To take her mind off the high pitched chaos, Eleanor opened the order of service and nearly retched. “Mother!” she screamed, startling the bridesmaids and causing her mother to drop her comb. “He did it. The crumb!”
“Sh, sh, sh,” her mother leaped up in front of Eleanor, waving a hand toward everyone to get back to what they were doing or at least to pretend to. “What?”
“Pastor Monty.” That said enough. Eleanor didn’t like Pastor Monty, nor did Trina, her maid of honor. Trina called him “The Full Monty” because he was so full of himself and said, “I’d rather chip dog manure from my hiking boots than listen to him.”
Eleanor held out the order of service to her mother and said, “Scripture.” Her mother looked and gasped. There in bold print: 1 Corinthians 13.
In the premarital meetings with Eleanor and Randy, Pastor Monty talked about his first marriage, divorce, and second marriage and said that during the wedding service he always spoke about love and forgiveness from 1 Corinthians 13.
“I told him I was sick of 1 Corinthians 13. Heard it at every wedding. I said I’d read 1 Corinthians and that blessed thirteenth chapter of his was certainly not about weddings. It was about a church fight. I insisted. ‘You’ve got the whole rest of the Bible,’ I said, and he waffled some, but he definitely agreed.”
Her mother, from behind her again, could see that Eleanor was red from the top of her head to her shoulders. Her mother tucked a strand of hair into place and sprayed it. “It’s too late to change anything. Just gotta’ let this go.”
Eleanor, however, wasn’t letting this go. Her mind roiled. She’d only agreed to be married in Randy’s church because Randy’s parents insisted. Randy tried to mollify her, “There’s all kinds of pastors as there’s all kinds of people.” Yes, she thought, but some pastors come off as sub-Christian religious officials, at best perhaps merely forgetful or, worse, as only slightly better than benevolent despots.
She was doing her best to stand upright while her viscera churned. This was personal, not a matter of the “office of pastor,” as Randy’s parents said when they implored her compliance with Pastor Monty. This is Randy’s and her wedding, not Pastor Monty’s. Granted, he was the pastor, but he had agreed. Is there some loop-hole for pastors, permitting them to do as they choose? Do they get to trample merrily the feelings of others because of their “office” of pastor?
Her mind did a couple more flips, reminding herself she was a Christian and asking what she should do in these circumstances. That was almost too difficult to consider. Friends and relatives were at this moment tumbling into the building. She envisioned when, and how, she could confront Pastor Monty, in a blink fantasizing scenario after scenario. She became functionally blind, because it took three seconds to realize that Trina was standing in front of her. Trina laid her hand on Eleanor’s arm, “You okay?”
She regained enough awareness to open the bulletin and use her newly airbrushed finger nail to touch: “Scripture.” Trina popped her eyes wide open and sucked in her breath through her teeth. Yet she said nothing, just closed her eyes, clasped her hands in front of her forehead, and slowly turned away. Yes, Eleanor thought, what’s left but prayer? I’m trapped. I can’t ruin this day for Randy or anyone else. Nothing to do but swallow the humiliation, pray, and trust that God will use time to heal and forgive. “But God,” she silently prayed. “God, you listening? I’m filing my complaint. This is the closest I can approximate to love, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to worship in this congregation again while Pastor Monty is here.”
Preaching Point: Christian love must somehow operate in any circumstance.
* * *
An Indecisive Day In Nazareth
by David O. Bales
Luke 4:21-30
Zoma heard old Nehorai telling his group of grey beards, “the boy has changed.” He knew they were talking about Jesus; but Zoma was never one to speak up and disagree with people. He kept walking, not wanting to be trapped by this cluster of old fellows who were so hostile to gossips that every morning they swapped stories of who was gossiping. Doesn’t everyone change, he thought, especially young people? Of course Jesus was middle-aged now, ten years older than Zoma, but he’d traveled far beyond lower Galilee, further than he and Zoma have ever been together. No wonder he’d changed.
When Joseph was alive, he, Jesus, and Zoma worked together for two years. An hour’s walk took them to their site in the city of Sepphoris. They constructed walls and roofs on houses and palaces. Those were the best years of Zoma’s life, exciting because he was with Jesus and they were out of their village and in the larger world.
One day as they lugged their sacks of tools on the road to Sepphoris Zoma told Jesus the drought was threatening his uncle’s crops. Zoma’s family was helping as much as possible, but it was a stretch to provision them. Jesus pointed to the flowers beside the path, “Don’t worry. Think about these growing flowers. If God clothes the grass of the field, will he not much more clothe your faithful family?” Then Jesus smiled, helping Zoma to trust that he was right.
Another day as the three of them walked, Jesus was in one of his long silences, staring far up the trail. Joseph was ten paces behind and spoke to him but he didn’t seem to hear. Zoma tapped Jesus’ arm and he could tell he’d ruined Jesus’ concentration. It seemed that Jesus was always smiling or concentrating seriously on something. “I’m sorry,” Zoma said.
“That’s alright,” Jesus answered.
“Your father,” Zoma said and pointed to Joseph trailing them.
Jesus said, “I was talking with my heavenly father.”
Then Jesus smiled and made Zoma doubly confused. He said, “We were talking about you.”
During the hours of walking the three always discussed the scripture readings from the Sabbath gathering. Joseph often just listened to the two younger males sharing their thoughts, hopes, and wonderings. Their work and walk together ended when Joseph died suddenly. Jesus found work closer to home in order to help with his younger brothers and sisters. Zoma continued laboring in Sepphoris but it was no longer as joyful as when Jesus was there. Then Jesus had left Nazareth, gone to meet his cousin John, knee deep in the Jordan’s destiny, and soon he was off preaching himself.
What was Jesus like now? Had he really changed? What had become of his strange power? Once Zoma fell from a rafter, landing on one foot and spraining his ankle as never before. The pain was terrible and his fellow workers feared it was broken. When Jesus came on the scene, he touched the ankle and smiled. The worst pain left immediately. In three days it was as though Zoma had never fallen. Zoma yearned to see Jesus’ smile again.
On Friday evening Zoma had barely been able to dash home from work before the Sabbath sundown. He found his family excited that Jesus was home and would speak in the synagogue gathering the next day. Zoma longed to go see him, but he didn’t butt into Jesus’ time with his family.
Now on the Sabbath morning Zoma was held back by the older men in the crowd. He strained to catch Jesus’ eye as the elders led their village luminary to the Sabbath gathering. He knew that if Jesus noticed him, he wouldn’t leap out of the group to initiate the elaborate greeting ritual; but he expected that he’d at least smile.
As the elders’ turned into the synagogue gathering, Jesus spied Zoma. He gave his fingers a little hello, but no smile. He seemed occupied by the surrounding elders and that he was designated to read and speak about the scripture. After he spoke all went well at first, but the crowd began to grumble when Jesus declared that the scripture was about him. Then Jesus’ response that God was gracious to people beyond Israel completely repulsed them.
Jesus was criticizing Zoma’s village. Zoma stepped back as the anger at Jesus rose to shouting. Then they seized him. What was happening? What was Zoma supposed to do? Jesus was his friend but he’d intentionally insulted the village. Were these old men right that Jesus had changed for the worse? Is this what happens when one goes even farther from Nazareth than Sepphoris?
They were screaming furiously as they clutched him, hands yanking on his clothes, tugging his hair, and pulling on his arms, nearly dragging him. They came toward Zoma, kicking up a cloud of dust. Zoma stood undecidedly, almost dancing from one foot to the other. What should he do? Help Jesus? He certainly couldn’t help these men who suddenly turned violent. He felt paralyzed. As the group dragged Jesus beside him, Jesus looked squarely in Zoma’s face… and grimly smiled. Then he stood free from their grasp and went on his way.
Preaching Point: Familiarity with Jesus doesn’t mean he won’t confuse or offend us.
*****************************************
StoryShare, February 3, 2019 issue.
Copyright 2019 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.
