Follow The Star
Stories
Note: This installment was originally published in 2007.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Follow The Star" by David Leininger
"The Chief Magi's Son" by David O. Bales
"Getting A Second Opinion" by Terry Cain
"God's Secret Plan" by Terry Cain
"Willy The Preacher" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"It Would Make A Great Movie" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"Into The Jordan" by Frank Fisher
What's Up This Week
What do the wise men see that we do not? What epiphany are we missing? Are we paying attention to what's happening around us? Let's begin the new year furthering the kingdom of God. Let's pay attention to our church, others that need help, and our family and friends. Put yourself out there. Help those in need. God is always ready to lend a helping hand to us. Why shouldn't we help those that need it? Let's share the good news. Good news? The best news of all ... God loves everyone. God wants to invite everyone into heaven.
Follow The Star
By David Leininger
Matthew 2:1-12
Many legends have grown up around this story of the Three Kings, one of which is that they were "three kings." The gospel account does not say there were three of them... or five or ten or thirty. The idea of THREE KINGS came when the three gifts were given -- one each. (Some wag has suggested that there were actually FOUR kings, but the fourth one's gift was a fruitcake, so he was not allowed in.)
Were they kings? Probably not. Matthew calls them "wise men from the East" -- MAGOI in the Greek (which is where we get our term MAGI) -- probably astrologers which explains why they would have noticed and then been so excited about coming across something unusual in the sky. As they would later say to Herod, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him." Not unheard of in that day -- the idea that heavenly signs marked the births and deaths of great leaders was widely accepted. What they saw excited them, even enough to make them drop what they were doing and follow the star.
There is a wonderful lesson for us right there -- these three (or four, or however many) met God in the midst of doing what they were supposed to do: they were at work. God is not limited to meeting with us in a certain place (a church) or at a certain hour (11 a.m. Sundays). God can and does speak to us ANYWHERE and ANYTIME. The lesson is BE ALERT!
Another lesson is in their willingness to take action. They could have noted the appearance of the star in their logbooks, indicated their conviction that this phenomenon probably heralded something or someone very special, and then gone about their business. But no. They put commitment to their conviction, feet to their faith, and commenced a journey (which was no doubt difficult and dangerous at times) all because they knew, at the end, they would finally meet the new king.
One of the things that is intriguing about this story is the incredible wrong turn these folks took as they neared the end of their trip. Instead of following the star to Bethlehem, they stopped off in Jerusalem to ask directions of Herod (which has caused someone to suggest that this is why these folks are famous in the first place -- they are the only men in history ever known to stop and ask directions). The visit with Herod should not be unexpected: after all, they were convinced that they were coming to welcome a new "King of the Jews," presumably Herod's baby son. Oops. With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, we know the trouble that slip caused. But the lesson is in noting where the directions to get them back on track came from: "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?" and the response, "In Bethlehem in Judea; for this is what the prophet has written..." They found their way again when they went to scripture.
Of course, our friends DID get back on track, found Jesus and gave him their gifts. There is a lesson in the gifts, too. Gold? It is easy for gold to become god; over and over Jesus noted how hard it was for any of us to manage money and keep it in proper perspective. Put it to use in the service of the Christ Child, and we begin to break its dangerous hold on us. Frankincense? That was burned in the temple as a symbol of prayer. Bring the Lord your hopes, your dreams, your petitions, and don't forget your thanks. Finally, myrrh, a spice used by the ancients as medicine and for embalming. Tradition says that the gift was given in anticipation of Christ's crucifixion and death. Perhaps it was also given to encourage us to bring him our sorrows and sadness, our depressions and despair, because then the "medicine" of the Great Physician goes to work and the healing process can begin.
Lots of lessons in such a short passage, but these days, as we approach the uncertainty of a new year, we need all the help we can get.
* Lesson 1: Just as the Wise Men, be ready to meet God in the midst of our everyday activities, then get up and follow the star;
* Lesson 2: What you believe should determine how you behave. Be willing to put feet on your faith; then get going and follow the star;
* Lesson 3: Scripture is a wonderful resource if you want to know God's direction for your life; get good directions, then follow the star;
* Lesson 4: Do not worry about what gifts you bring; each is appropriate in its own way as you follow the star.
David E. Leininger is pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, Warren, Pennsylvania, having previously served congregations in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. He is a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina (M.Div) and Erskine Theological Seminary in Due West, South Carolina (D.Min.). His most recent book is A Color-Blind Church (CSS Publishing), the account of an intriguing match of two congregations -- one black, one white -- in a small community following the reunion of the northern and southern streams of the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1983. David and his wife Christie are parents of two grown children.
The Chief Magi's Son
By David O. Bales
Matthew 2:1-12
The Chief Magi's son had never wanted to leave Persia and go off after a star; and, during the weeks on the journey if anyone would listen to him, he'd try to make them understand, "Stars shine everywhere." His Magi companions habitually smiled at his contrariness. His father, the Chief Magi endured his questions even when they bordered more on blasphemy than interrogation: "Look at the sky. Has it changed since we left three months ago?" His father, no matter how difficult the road or how hot the day, habitually said, "You'll see." When that response didn't win his son over, the Chief Magi would just smile and pat him on the shoulder.
Now they'd gone through the mockery of an interview with Herod. The Chief Magi's son felt the hair on his neck prickle when Herod displayed his oily smile. Did they really think this tyrant was pleased that a rival king was born outside his dynastic line? As they were escorted from Herod's audience room he whispered to two Magi, "Don't you see that Herod is suspicious?" But, since he'd been such a consistent nag for months, the Magi smiled gently and made their preparations to continue toward Bethlehem. And, truly, the Chief Magi's son didn't try as hard to convince them anymore. No matter their expectations for his also becoming a Magi, he'd only come along because he'd promised his mother to watch out for his father, and their patience with him had nearly worn him down.
Only once more did he try to convince his father that they were putting their heads in the lion's mouth. His father replied, "Yes, the Lion of the tribe of Judah." His father shushed his son, "We're almost there." He patted his son on the shoulder. "Another morning's travel. You'll see."
The next morning they left Jerusalem -- camels, donkeys, attendants, and Magi. The Chief Magi's son made sure he was last. He glanced back toward Jerusalem and saw Herod's men atop the city wall watching them. He expected to see them again, soon.
What had captured the minds of these Zoroastrian priests who until a year ago had seemed so reasonable, so stable, even staid? The dangerous pilgrimage to Judea was only one thing. To think that a star could guide them anywhere was at least foolish and bordered on self-destruction. Didn't they realize you can see a star from anywhere? That's one large sky up there, seen from all points on earth. Stars don't stand over anything. Stars move all night and all year.
The caravan arrived in Bethlehem at midday. Their entourage with their foreign clothes and strange dialect upset the villagers. The Magi announced that they'd come seeking the child born King of the Jews and Messiah. The Chief Magi's son sighed and said to a boy holding a camel's bridle, "Why don't we just return to Jerusalem and turn ourselves in for sedition?" Herod would act swiftly if even one village sprouted hope for a different king.
No one in Bethlehem knew of a special baby, although the Magi made a number of young mothers happy by their visits. In the late afternoon the Magi gathered for a council and determined they must wait for nightfall and the star to direct them. The Chief Magi's son sat beyond their circle and remained silent during the discussion.
That evening as the stars appeared the old men, professional astrologers, stood gazing at the heavens, identifying constellations. One said, "There it is." The others shouted agreement. Then they ran grabbing gifts they'd carted for a hundred days. Adorned in their Persian priestly garb the old men dashed through the dark street like frail birds flying at night. The Chief Magi's son followed in order to pick up any who fell. He didn't want them hurt. Who else would have put up with him as they did? He was already planning a way home for them by some route other than through Herod's Jerusalem.
Ahead of him his father kept looking up at the stars, then down to see the dark, irregular alley. He stopped and pointed to the house that he said the star shined over. His son looked up also, seeing all stars shining over all houses. The men knocked and were welcomed in. They entered in such joy they didn't realize that the Chief Magi's son stayed outside.
He'd gotten his father safe half way. He'd promised his mother he'd also usher him home safely. Alone in Bethlehem's dark street, away from the old men's excitement, the Chief Magi's son looked up quietly and said, "God, I don't know whose child they've come upon. But they're good men full of hopes. They're old men consumed with dreams. They're not like so many people who've been hollowed out by life. These men, led by my father, are looking for something extraordinary. Not for their own benefit. They aren't seeking you in order to become rich and powerful.
"Great Creator, if you reward anyone for faithfulness, look upon them, I pray. They follow their abnormal star, which they think shines only here. Grant them some touch upon this earth of life beyond. Don't let their waning years be filled with regret. Bestow upon them, I pray, satisfaction with a quest that grows in mercy and kindness and that spreads to others as goodwill.
"Merciful and Almighty, if I also must become a priest, I ask that you impart to me a portion of their faith and compassion, for these are the best men I've ever known. And if I, as they expect, must serve an earthly Messiah, may he be as hopeful as these Magi and as good as my father."
"In hope for the world I pray. Amen."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian minister for 30 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Getting A Second Opinion
By Terry Cain
Isaiah 60:1-6
The scriptures tell us that God is doing good things for us and will continue to do good things for us. Each of us probably asks the questions: Where are those good things; when will we get them; how will we know them; and will we enjoy them?
* * *
One day little Piwacket decided he would leave home for a time and take a journey into the world on an adventure. So he packed his backpack, told his family good-bye as he would be gone for a while, and started off on his trip. Soon after he left the little village and entered the enchanted forest he realized that he needed a plan -- he should have a philosophy of life, something to live by. He had always heard there were two mountains in the enchanted forest: R Mountain and O Mountain; and that a guru or great teacher lived on top of each mountain. He decided that the only wise thing for him to do would be to get advice from one of the great teachers.
Piwacket came to the first mountain named R Mountain. He climbed to the top of the mountain and knocked at the door of the cave of the great teacher who lived there. The great teacher opened the door and asked Piwacket what he wanted. Piwacket said he wanted to know the secret of life. "What should his philosophy be?"
The great teacher said, "Look around you at the world. What do you see? Do you not see that there are many wars, and many hungry people, and violence, greed, and selfishness in the world? That tells you what your philosophy should be."
Piwacket answered, "No, I'm not sure what my philosophy should be."
The great teacher said, "The state of the world tells you that the appropriate philosophy is to be always looking out for yourself. Get all of the world's goods you can get. Do only those things that will make you happy. Don't trust others. Don't let others get any of your things. Get as many good times as you can for you do not know how long your life will be."
Piwacket thanked the great teacher and went down the mountain. Before he went any farther, he decided the really wise thing to do would be to get the advice from the second great teacher on O Mountain. Piwacket climbed that mountain and knocked at the door to the cave. When the great teacher answered the door, Piwacket told him what he desired.
The great teacher told Piwacket to look around at the world and he would see the nature of the world and thus the secret to a successful life. Piwacket said he had looked at the world and saw wars and starving people. The great teacher was shocked, "Is that all you have seen? Did you not see the beautiful colors of the world in such things as flowers, birds, and blue sky? Have you not enjoyed hearing beautiful music? Do you not enjoy the good food you eat? Do you not have precious family and friends that make life very special for you?" Piwacket acknowledged that those things were true, but could he enjoy those things when others were in situations where they couldn't enjoy them?
The great teacher said, "Enjoying the beautiful things of life were only part of a successful philosophy. The other part was to help others come to the place where they could also share in the good things. When you help others to enjoy life, you will be able to have great satisfaction in life."
Before Piwacket left, he asked the great teacher of O Mountain why the mountains were named R and O.
The great teacher replied, "The mountains are named 'O' for optimism and 'P' for pessimism." Piwacket told him the sign at the bottom of one mountain said "R", not "P." The great teacher said some wag had carved a little extension on the bottom of the P and began to call that mountain 'realism.' "
God's Secret Plan
By Terry Cain
Ephesians 3:1-12
I have a friend who was ecstatic because she had just been accepted into a prestigious organization. What amazed me was the fact that her mother had applied for membership a few years earlier and had been turned down as being "not good enough." It reminds me of today's scripture.
* * *
Debbie came home from school in a deep reflective mood and flopped on the couch. Her dad was reading the paper, yet he was still alert to his daughter's lack of usual cheerful mood. He continued to read knowing that she would very soon open up and share with him what was troubling her mind. Sure enough, it wasn't long coming: "Dad." After acknowledging her address with a kind greeting in return, he let her continue. "Dad, as Joy and I were coming home from school today, she told me something that bothers me." After a polite inquiry as to what it was, he heard her continue, "She said the pastor of her church told all the church members that only members of their church would be saved and go to heaven. People who went to churches that were different from hers would not go to heaven. That isn't true is it, Dad?"
"No, honey, I don't think so. As a matter of fact it was only the other day that I was reading from Ephesians a passage telling how Paul understood God's secret plan to mean that part of the good news of Christianity was that it was for everyone. God's chosen includes everyone. God reaches out to every person on earth with an invitation to go to heaven. Coincidentally, at about the same time I had just read an interesting Peanuts cartoon that I found very thought provoking."
"Oh, no, there you go again, Dad; you and your funny papers. Sometimes I think you believe the comic strips in the newspaper are a second Bible."
He replied, "Well, they have some very perceptive things to say to us at times. Who knows, perhaps God got some of his/her ideas for his/her Bible from the comic strips."
"Oh, Dad!"
"Anyway, this particular Peanuts was about Linus running over to Charlie Brown's house to tell him about a baseball game he had seen. He told his friend how exciting and close the game had been -- a cliffhanger. When the game was finally decided, the winning team ran out on the field and jumped around. The fans in the stands went crazy. Everyone was so happy and emotional. He told Charlie Brown, 'It was a sight to behold! You shoulda been there.' Charlie Brown thought for a moment and then said, 'What about the other team?' "
After thinking a moment a two, herself, Debbie said, "That really does make you think. What about the feelings of those who lose?"
Debbie's father said, "I have noticed how the losing team reacts after a world series or a championship game. The television camera pans the team on the bench or in the dugout and they are utterly dejected. Some of them even cry. But that is a dramatic difference between our world and values and God's values. In God's world there are no losers; only winners!"
"You know, Dad, I think the people in Joy's church maybe don't really want the rest of us to get to heaven. They would like to have it all to themselves, but won't really admit it."
"That is a very profound or deep thought, Deb, but we mustn't be ungenerous with our friends in that church. We should assume they want us to get to heaven also and are sincerely sorry when they think we may not make it. However, that is the 'secret plan' or good news of the Ephesians scripture. We will make it too, and they will be so glad to see us -- probably surprised -- but nevertheless, still happy we're there."
Willy The Preacher
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ."
-- Ephesians 3:8
He showed up just a few minutes before the service was to start. The choir members had already warmed up and were scooching their albs over their heads and humming parts of the anthem quietly.
The pastor saw him enter the side door. He was hunched over, not so much from age, but maybe from just too much of life. His clothing and his face looked about as battered and worn as the guitar case he held in his right hand. "Are you the pastor?" he asked with an accent or speech impediment that made him difficult to understand. The pastor nodded, trying to remember whether he had a five in his wallet and how he didn't really need the interruption right now.
"I've come to preach the sermon," the man said simply.
The pastor fought to conceal his amusement. "Well, I'm afraid I already have my sermon ready."
"I'm Willy," the man said, shifting his guitar to his left hand and thrusting out his right to shake. The pastor shook his hand and made a mental note to wash again before starting the service. "God told me to come here and preach to your congregation this morning."
"Really? Well, Willy, like I said, and I don't want to be rude, but I think that God wants me to preach this morning" and in his mind he thought (and since I'm the pastor... I win!). "Maybe some other time." Like never.
"I understand. Maybe you would let me sing a song. Maybe right after you preach, pastor."
By now it was time to start the service and it had been "suggested" at the last board meeting that he might want to start a little closer to the published time. But what to do? There wasn't even time for his gentle, but firm "bum's rush." "Well, okay, I guess. What would you be singing?"
"It's a song I wrote myself." And the pastor thought only one thing, great, just great!
Willy walked into the front of the sanctuary through a door that no one but the pastor, the acolytes, and altar guild used. He looked around, got his bearings, and made his way to the front pew, banging his guitar case on the communion railing. The quiet room became even quieter. The organist stopped the prelude in mid measure.
After the sermon the pastor said, "And now we have a special guest. His name is Willy and he feels that God led him to us this morning. He would like to sing a song that he himself wrote." The pastor nodded at Willy and sat down. Willy stood, picked up his guitar case from the floor, placed it on the pew and opened it up. One person later said that she thought he had a machine gun in there and they'd all be dead before the offering could be taken up.
Then Willy pulled the guitar on, strummed a chord so out-of-tune as to be unrecognizable and began to sing, "Sing a new song to the Lord" to a non-existent melody. The pastor could hardly keep his face straight, the congregations' jaws dropped as one, and Willy "sang" on. And on.
When he was done, the pastor thanked him and went on with the service. It was afterward that things really got interesting. The woman who thought her number was up invited Willy to coffee hour. There, within minutes, about a dozen people hovered around him. "Why do you think God wanted you here this morning?" "How do you hear God... with words or what?" "Where else has God called you?" "What is it like to feel so certain that God is calling you to his work?"
The pastor, late to join the conversation, just stood in wonder and awe, coffee in hand, thinking that he had never, in all his preaching, elicited such a lively discussion. The most he ever heard was the obligatory, "Nice words, Pastor. You gave me a lot to think about." And as he locked up the church an hour later and slowly made his way home he wondered if it weren't true, that God had told Willy to preach in his church that very morning. And even if God hadn't, God should have, because they all got a lot out of Willy and what he had to say.
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
It Would Make A Great Movie
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Based on Isaiah 60:1-6 and the true story of Viganella, Italy
The first scene, as the opening credits roll, is a montage of a small village nestled deep in the foothills of two very tall mountains in the Italian Alps. It is not exactly dark, but it is dim and dingy. Lights are coming on in the houses. People are out walking and a couple stop and look up at the sun as it disappears at the end of the day. An old woman looks up, crosses herself, and hurriedly walks away. They all look sad. We get a glimpse of a calendar in someone's home. The day's date is circled with red marker. It is November 10.
We go outside again and see a sundial in the town square. Someone has pasted a crude sign that says, "Broken until February 3. Use your watch why don't you?"
The next scene is a noisy village council meeting. The mayor, who paid to have the sundial made and placed in the square, has come up with an idea that he is trying to convince the citizenry of. "It came to me when I commissioned the sundial," he says. "It is going to sound crazy but I'm sick and tired of living in Viganella and not being able to see the sun from November 11 to February 2. And as your mayor I think it's time we did something about it." The room erupts with noise. People are jeering the mayor. They are shouting insults at him, laughing, and poking each other.
Another person stands. A young woman gently but firmly moves the mayor aside. "Wait. Wait just a moment. Quiet!" The room goes still except for some residual snickering and elbow jabbing. "I thought our beloved mayor was a bit daft myself. After all, even though the Bible says that if we had faith... faith even the size of a mustard seed, we could move a mountain into the sea, I knew I didn't have that much faith. Nor, I am bold to say, does our beloved priest. Am I right, Father?" All eyes turn to the parish priest who looks very embarrassed by the attention. "So when the mayor told the council about his idea I thought he had lost his mind." She surveys the room and it becomes as still as a church during a sermon about giving more money in the collection. "So, I just ask you to hear him out. Take some time to think about it, and then see if it doesn't make some sense to you." She sits down. The mayor now has their full attention. He clears his throat.
"When I asked Giacomo to design the sundial I told him not to put any dates on it from November 11 to February 2 since there was no sun those days anyway. Then I said to him that if he could design a project that would bring the sun to our village I would back it with all the power of the mayor's office."
"So what's the bright idea, Mayor? Get to it!" someone shouted from the back of the room. The snickers started again.
"Well, we are going to put a mirror up on the top of the mountain. It will be 26 feet wide and 16 feet tall. We will guide it by motors and pulleys to keep it pointed correctly so that it will aim the sun into our village square." The room again erupts in laughter. Until another person, the village physician rises to speak.
"With all due respect, it sounds crazy, Mayor. Stupid, maybe. Perhaps we will call it Midali's Folly. But what have we got to loose. I see more people during these months for depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder, they call it, than in all the rest of the year. It's just not natural for humans to go without sunlight. I put people on anti-depressants. Others have arrays of lights in their homes that they sit in front of for hours a day. And I'm sure you notice that, even though our population is getting older and older, those who can, go on vacation anywhere other than between these god-forsaken mountains. And our children, even my own, have moved away."
The discussion goes on and the scene fades out.
In the next scene there are two helicopters hauling a huge piece of sheet metal up to the top of the mountain 3,600 feet up from the village, where dozens of men struggle to hold it in place and bolt it to an apparatus of motors and girders, gears and pulleys.
Below, in the village square, people, cupping a hand above their eyes, squint in the twilight at the mountain. Time passes and the scene shifts back to the mountaintop and then back to the village again. Finally the mirror begins to move. You can see brightness over in the distance lighting up trees and buildings and coming closer and closer. And then suddenly the square is flooded with light. Sunglasses go on. A cheer goes up. People are hugging each other. Some are even crying.
More people emerge from their homes. Fathers and sons from their work. Infant daughters tenderly carried. Old women are praying their rosaries and crossing themselves. Nearly everyone is pointing and half laughing, half weeping.
Just then the parish priest comes out of the church, dressed in black cassock and holding a floppy Bible that would make a television preacher proud. He walks to the sundial, steps up on the platform and eyes the crowd. They fall silent. The priest opens his Bible and begins to read: "Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.... Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice" (Isaiah 60:1-2, 5a).
The priest gently closes his Bible and speaks once again. "My dear friends, there is much rejoicing this day as there should be. No longer will our village suffer in darkness so many months each year. And so I invite you to come with me into the church where we can properly give thanks to God and understand as perhaps never before what our ancestors in the faith felt, when, after walking in darkness so long, after longing for the Messiah for so many years, yearning for the light of the world to come... perhaps we can imagine the joy they felt when they followed that star to the place where the baby Jesus lay. Arise, my friends. Shine, for your light has come and the Lord's glory has risen upon us."
And the people are seen in the village church with awe and wonder in their eyes. And our movie comes to an end or perhaps a beginning.
Rick McCracken-Bennett, an Episcopal priest and church planter, is the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. McCracken-Bennett has been an avid storyteller for almost 20 years, sharing his stories in churches, libraries, schools, and conferences. He is a member of the National Storytelling Network, the National Organization of Biblical Storytellers, and the Storytellers of Central Ohio. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explored the use of stories to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
Into The Jordan
By Frank Fisher
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
To Elizabeth, wife of Zachariah, from John son of Zachariah.
Well, I don't ordinarily make a habit of reading other people's mail. But in this case maybe I'll make an exception.
(open envelope, unfold paper)
"John who is called John the Baptist to Elizabeth, a daughter of Aaron. Greetings.
Yes mom, I know I'm not supposed to be formal when I begin a letter to you. I guess I've been hanging out with too many of the scribes and Pharisees lately. The formal way they talk makes everyone else start to be formal after a while. Of course they don't sound very formal when I call them things like a brood of vipers.
Yes, yes, I know. You didn't teach me to use words like those. And yes I am watching my diet. Locusts and wild honey are both very nutritious. Oh and by the way, I'm sending one of my camel skins home with this letter. Would you please wash it for me? Everyone's starting to complain about it getting a little too ripe.
Things have been really hoping since the last time I wrote you. People have come from all over Judea to hear me preach and to be baptized. I've seen people from all walks of life from the very rich to those who don't have a penny. There has been soldiers and teachers; beggars and scribes; potters and priests.
I remember them all mom. No matter what their place in life or their occupation. But there was one person whom I remember more than all the rest. They tell me he's a carpenter.
It was almost night when I first saw him. I was pretty tired as you can well imagine. After all I'd been up to my knees in the Jordan all day. The line of people waiting to be baptized seemed especially long. Maybe this was the one day all of them could find to get away from their work. Or maybe, just maybe, they somehow knew something very different would happen on this day.
Anyway like I said, I'd been in the Jordan baptizing people all day long. It was getting to be about dusk. And I was beginning to hope those in line would decide to come back another day.
Then suddenly there was a lull in the action. It was like I'd entered the eye of a violent storm off the Sea of Galilee. For everything around me became very, very still.
That's when I saw the carpenter. He looked tall and strong as he slowly came down the river bank. There was a hint of a smile on his face. A smile that seemed to say, "Well, don't you recognize me."
It took me a second but then I did recognize him. This carpenter was the one I'd been proclaiming. He was the one I'd been talking about when I said, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the fire of the Holy Spirit."
This person was the one who'd come after me. This carpenter was the Messiah.
His smile held me almost immobile as he came down the bank and into the water. He walked up to me expectantly, and just stood there waiting to be baptized. For a moment I tried to talk him out of it. After all, I was the one who should be baptized by him. But he just smiled again and shook his head. There was something in his look that said, "It's okay. This is what must be done."
So I did it. I took hold of him just like I did anyone else. And then just like anyone else I lowered him down toward the Jordan's waters. And he came up out of those waters soaked to the skin just like anyone else. Then with his clothes dripping with the Jordan's water he walked toward the shore, climbed the bank, smiled, and walked slowly away just like anyone else.
I can almost hear you saying Mom, "Well if everything about him was just like everyone else what makes him so special? Why do you think this carpenter's the Messiah?"
It's kind of hard to tell you these things Mom. I know you think someone who lives off in the desert like I do is probably... well, about one commandment short of a full tablet. But there were some things about his baptism that weren't like the baptisms of just anyone else.
It was mostly what happened when he went in water that sets him apart in my mind, Mom. When I've baptized anyone else, I knew they went in the water and they came out of the water.
Yes I know that sounds pretty basic. But with the carpenter it was different. He didn't simply go in the water. Instead he actually went into the Jordan. It was if he entered the water and drowned.
All I could do was stand there in dismay watching the hope of all Israel die before me. But as I stood frozen watching, I saw something else. In my mind, I saw an endless line of people. People who were dressed in all kinds of different ways and who had all different colors of skin. And these billions and billions of people were joyfully following the carpenter into the Jordan's water. And they too were dying there with him.
For a long moment, I continued to stand there as if frozen in time and space. But the moment passed and the carpenter came back out of the water. And as he came out I saw something else again. This time it was if I was seeing with his eyes and hearing with his ears. For I somehow know as he came out of the water he saw the very heavens ripped asunder. And out of the heavens there came the Spirit of God descending on him like a dove.
Then as the dove alighted on his forehead I know there was a voice; a voice like thunder coming from the heavens. And the voice said, "You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Now I'd seen quite enough for one day. I'm sure you'll agree with that Mom. But it wasn't all I saw. For as the Carpenter left the water all those people who'd entered the water with him came back out. At first they seemed to be the same as when they went in. Then as they passed me, I saw something different. Just as the carpenter had been marked by the dove, these people too were marked.
They were marked with a mark that shone boldly on their foreheads. They were all marked with a sign that to me spoke of horror and death. Yet I could see to them it was a seal of a promise and a sign of a hope. You see Mom, each of their foreheads was marked; marked with the sign of a cross.
Mom I have to tell you, I was frightened out of my wits. But as I stood there shaking, one of the billions of people seemed to turn aside and look at me. He was dressed like a Pharisee. Somehow I knew his name was Paul. And as he turned aside he seemed to speak to me for a just a second saying, "Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life."
I'm not too sure Mom, just what he meant with his talk of death and new life. But somehow I know something pretty important happened on that day.
Give my love to father Mom. I miss him and I miss you. Don't worry about me. Even though Herod has me in prison I know I'll be okay. In fact all three of us will be okay. For you see Mom, we were among the people who came out of the water with the Carpenter.
Blessings to you Mom. Blessings in the Name of the One who comes after me. Blessings in the Name of the Messiah: Jesus the Carpenter.
Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB, is a second-career interim/transitional pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA). He currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Bushnell, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois, where he has joined the rapidly growing number of those who are called to follow Saint Benedict's rule.
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StoryShare, January 6-7, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Follow The Star" by David Leininger
"The Chief Magi's Son" by David O. Bales
"Getting A Second Opinion" by Terry Cain
"God's Secret Plan" by Terry Cain
"Willy The Preacher" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"It Would Make A Great Movie" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"Into The Jordan" by Frank Fisher
What's Up This Week
What do the wise men see that we do not? What epiphany are we missing? Are we paying attention to what's happening around us? Let's begin the new year furthering the kingdom of God. Let's pay attention to our church, others that need help, and our family and friends. Put yourself out there. Help those in need. God is always ready to lend a helping hand to us. Why shouldn't we help those that need it? Let's share the good news. Good news? The best news of all ... God loves everyone. God wants to invite everyone into heaven.
Follow The Star
By David Leininger
Matthew 2:1-12
Many legends have grown up around this story of the Three Kings, one of which is that they were "three kings." The gospel account does not say there were three of them... or five or ten or thirty. The idea of THREE KINGS came when the three gifts were given -- one each. (Some wag has suggested that there were actually FOUR kings, but the fourth one's gift was a fruitcake, so he was not allowed in.)
Were they kings? Probably not. Matthew calls them "wise men from the East" -- MAGOI in the Greek (which is where we get our term MAGI) -- probably astrologers which explains why they would have noticed and then been so excited about coming across something unusual in the sky. As they would later say to Herod, "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him." Not unheard of in that day -- the idea that heavenly signs marked the births and deaths of great leaders was widely accepted. What they saw excited them, even enough to make them drop what they were doing and follow the star.
There is a wonderful lesson for us right there -- these three (or four, or however many) met God in the midst of doing what they were supposed to do: they were at work. God is not limited to meeting with us in a certain place (a church) or at a certain hour (11 a.m. Sundays). God can and does speak to us ANYWHERE and ANYTIME. The lesson is BE ALERT!
Another lesson is in their willingness to take action. They could have noted the appearance of the star in their logbooks, indicated their conviction that this phenomenon probably heralded something or someone very special, and then gone about their business. But no. They put commitment to their conviction, feet to their faith, and commenced a journey (which was no doubt difficult and dangerous at times) all because they knew, at the end, they would finally meet the new king.
One of the things that is intriguing about this story is the incredible wrong turn these folks took as they neared the end of their trip. Instead of following the star to Bethlehem, they stopped off in Jerusalem to ask directions of Herod (which has caused someone to suggest that this is why these folks are famous in the first place -- they are the only men in history ever known to stop and ask directions). The visit with Herod should not be unexpected: after all, they were convinced that they were coming to welcome a new "King of the Jews," presumably Herod's baby son. Oops. With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, we know the trouble that slip caused. But the lesson is in noting where the directions to get them back on track came from: "Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews?" and the response, "In Bethlehem in Judea; for this is what the prophet has written..." They found their way again when they went to scripture.
Of course, our friends DID get back on track, found Jesus and gave him their gifts. There is a lesson in the gifts, too. Gold? It is easy for gold to become god; over and over Jesus noted how hard it was for any of us to manage money and keep it in proper perspective. Put it to use in the service of the Christ Child, and we begin to break its dangerous hold on us. Frankincense? That was burned in the temple as a symbol of prayer. Bring the Lord your hopes, your dreams, your petitions, and don't forget your thanks. Finally, myrrh, a spice used by the ancients as medicine and for embalming. Tradition says that the gift was given in anticipation of Christ's crucifixion and death. Perhaps it was also given to encourage us to bring him our sorrows and sadness, our depressions and despair, because then the "medicine" of the Great Physician goes to work and the healing process can begin.
Lots of lessons in such a short passage, but these days, as we approach the uncertainty of a new year, we need all the help we can get.
* Lesson 1: Just as the Wise Men, be ready to meet God in the midst of our everyday activities, then get up and follow the star;
* Lesson 2: What you believe should determine how you behave. Be willing to put feet on your faith; then get going and follow the star;
* Lesson 3: Scripture is a wonderful resource if you want to know God's direction for your life; get good directions, then follow the star;
* Lesson 4: Do not worry about what gifts you bring; each is appropriate in its own way as you follow the star.
David E. Leininger is pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, Warren, Pennsylvania, having previously served congregations in the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. He is a graduate of the Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina (M.Div) and Erskine Theological Seminary in Due West, South Carolina (D.Min.). His most recent book is A Color-Blind Church (CSS Publishing), the account of an intriguing match of two congregations -- one black, one white -- in a small community following the reunion of the northern and southern streams of the Presbyterian Church (USA) in 1983. David and his wife Christie are parents of two grown children.
The Chief Magi's Son
By David O. Bales
Matthew 2:1-12
The Chief Magi's son had never wanted to leave Persia and go off after a star; and, during the weeks on the journey if anyone would listen to him, he'd try to make them understand, "Stars shine everywhere." His Magi companions habitually smiled at his contrariness. His father, the Chief Magi endured his questions even when they bordered more on blasphemy than interrogation: "Look at the sky. Has it changed since we left three months ago?" His father, no matter how difficult the road or how hot the day, habitually said, "You'll see." When that response didn't win his son over, the Chief Magi would just smile and pat him on the shoulder.
Now they'd gone through the mockery of an interview with Herod. The Chief Magi's son felt the hair on his neck prickle when Herod displayed his oily smile. Did they really think this tyrant was pleased that a rival king was born outside his dynastic line? As they were escorted from Herod's audience room he whispered to two Magi, "Don't you see that Herod is suspicious?" But, since he'd been such a consistent nag for months, the Magi smiled gently and made their preparations to continue toward Bethlehem. And, truly, the Chief Magi's son didn't try as hard to convince them anymore. No matter their expectations for his also becoming a Magi, he'd only come along because he'd promised his mother to watch out for his father, and their patience with him had nearly worn him down.
Only once more did he try to convince his father that they were putting their heads in the lion's mouth. His father replied, "Yes, the Lion of the tribe of Judah." His father shushed his son, "We're almost there." He patted his son on the shoulder. "Another morning's travel. You'll see."
The next morning they left Jerusalem -- camels, donkeys, attendants, and Magi. The Chief Magi's son made sure he was last. He glanced back toward Jerusalem and saw Herod's men atop the city wall watching them. He expected to see them again, soon.
What had captured the minds of these Zoroastrian priests who until a year ago had seemed so reasonable, so stable, even staid? The dangerous pilgrimage to Judea was only one thing. To think that a star could guide them anywhere was at least foolish and bordered on self-destruction. Didn't they realize you can see a star from anywhere? That's one large sky up there, seen from all points on earth. Stars don't stand over anything. Stars move all night and all year.
The caravan arrived in Bethlehem at midday. Their entourage with their foreign clothes and strange dialect upset the villagers. The Magi announced that they'd come seeking the child born King of the Jews and Messiah. The Chief Magi's son sighed and said to a boy holding a camel's bridle, "Why don't we just return to Jerusalem and turn ourselves in for sedition?" Herod would act swiftly if even one village sprouted hope for a different king.
No one in Bethlehem knew of a special baby, although the Magi made a number of young mothers happy by their visits. In the late afternoon the Magi gathered for a council and determined they must wait for nightfall and the star to direct them. The Chief Magi's son sat beyond their circle and remained silent during the discussion.
That evening as the stars appeared the old men, professional astrologers, stood gazing at the heavens, identifying constellations. One said, "There it is." The others shouted agreement. Then they ran grabbing gifts they'd carted for a hundred days. Adorned in their Persian priestly garb the old men dashed through the dark street like frail birds flying at night. The Chief Magi's son followed in order to pick up any who fell. He didn't want them hurt. Who else would have put up with him as they did? He was already planning a way home for them by some route other than through Herod's Jerusalem.
Ahead of him his father kept looking up at the stars, then down to see the dark, irregular alley. He stopped and pointed to the house that he said the star shined over. His son looked up also, seeing all stars shining over all houses. The men knocked and were welcomed in. They entered in such joy they didn't realize that the Chief Magi's son stayed outside.
He'd gotten his father safe half way. He'd promised his mother he'd also usher him home safely. Alone in Bethlehem's dark street, away from the old men's excitement, the Chief Magi's son looked up quietly and said, "God, I don't know whose child they've come upon. But they're good men full of hopes. They're old men consumed with dreams. They're not like so many people who've been hollowed out by life. These men, led by my father, are looking for something extraordinary. Not for their own benefit. They aren't seeking you in order to become rich and powerful.
"Great Creator, if you reward anyone for faithfulness, look upon them, I pray. They follow their abnormal star, which they think shines only here. Grant them some touch upon this earth of life beyond. Don't let their waning years be filled with regret. Bestow upon them, I pray, satisfaction with a quest that grows in mercy and kindness and that spreads to others as goodwill.
"Merciful and Almighty, if I also must become a priest, I ask that you impart to me a portion of their faith and compassion, for these are the best men I've ever known. And if I, as they expect, must serve an earthly Messiah, may he be as hopeful as these Magi and as good as my father."
"In hope for the world I pray. Amen."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian minister for 30 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Getting A Second Opinion
By Terry Cain
Isaiah 60:1-6
The scriptures tell us that God is doing good things for us and will continue to do good things for us. Each of us probably asks the questions: Where are those good things; when will we get them; how will we know them; and will we enjoy them?
* * *
One day little Piwacket decided he would leave home for a time and take a journey into the world on an adventure. So he packed his backpack, told his family good-bye as he would be gone for a while, and started off on his trip. Soon after he left the little village and entered the enchanted forest he realized that he needed a plan -- he should have a philosophy of life, something to live by. He had always heard there were two mountains in the enchanted forest: R Mountain and O Mountain; and that a guru or great teacher lived on top of each mountain. He decided that the only wise thing for him to do would be to get advice from one of the great teachers.
Piwacket came to the first mountain named R Mountain. He climbed to the top of the mountain and knocked at the door of the cave of the great teacher who lived there. The great teacher opened the door and asked Piwacket what he wanted. Piwacket said he wanted to know the secret of life. "What should his philosophy be?"
The great teacher said, "Look around you at the world. What do you see? Do you not see that there are many wars, and many hungry people, and violence, greed, and selfishness in the world? That tells you what your philosophy should be."
Piwacket answered, "No, I'm not sure what my philosophy should be."
The great teacher said, "The state of the world tells you that the appropriate philosophy is to be always looking out for yourself. Get all of the world's goods you can get. Do only those things that will make you happy. Don't trust others. Don't let others get any of your things. Get as many good times as you can for you do not know how long your life will be."
Piwacket thanked the great teacher and went down the mountain. Before he went any farther, he decided the really wise thing to do would be to get the advice from the second great teacher on O Mountain. Piwacket climbed that mountain and knocked at the door to the cave. When the great teacher answered the door, Piwacket told him what he desired.
The great teacher told Piwacket to look around at the world and he would see the nature of the world and thus the secret to a successful life. Piwacket said he had looked at the world and saw wars and starving people. The great teacher was shocked, "Is that all you have seen? Did you not see the beautiful colors of the world in such things as flowers, birds, and blue sky? Have you not enjoyed hearing beautiful music? Do you not enjoy the good food you eat? Do you not have precious family and friends that make life very special for you?" Piwacket acknowledged that those things were true, but could he enjoy those things when others were in situations where they couldn't enjoy them?
The great teacher said, "Enjoying the beautiful things of life were only part of a successful philosophy. The other part was to help others come to the place where they could also share in the good things. When you help others to enjoy life, you will be able to have great satisfaction in life."
Before Piwacket left, he asked the great teacher of O Mountain why the mountains were named R and O.
The great teacher replied, "The mountains are named 'O' for optimism and 'P' for pessimism." Piwacket told him the sign at the bottom of one mountain said "R", not "P." The great teacher said some wag had carved a little extension on the bottom of the P and began to call that mountain 'realism.' "
God's Secret Plan
By Terry Cain
Ephesians 3:1-12
I have a friend who was ecstatic because she had just been accepted into a prestigious organization. What amazed me was the fact that her mother had applied for membership a few years earlier and had been turned down as being "not good enough." It reminds me of today's scripture.
* * *
Debbie came home from school in a deep reflective mood and flopped on the couch. Her dad was reading the paper, yet he was still alert to his daughter's lack of usual cheerful mood. He continued to read knowing that she would very soon open up and share with him what was troubling her mind. Sure enough, it wasn't long coming: "Dad." After acknowledging her address with a kind greeting in return, he let her continue. "Dad, as Joy and I were coming home from school today, she told me something that bothers me." After a polite inquiry as to what it was, he heard her continue, "She said the pastor of her church told all the church members that only members of their church would be saved and go to heaven. People who went to churches that were different from hers would not go to heaven. That isn't true is it, Dad?"
"No, honey, I don't think so. As a matter of fact it was only the other day that I was reading from Ephesians a passage telling how Paul understood God's secret plan to mean that part of the good news of Christianity was that it was for everyone. God's chosen includes everyone. God reaches out to every person on earth with an invitation to go to heaven. Coincidentally, at about the same time I had just read an interesting Peanuts cartoon that I found very thought provoking."
"Oh, no, there you go again, Dad; you and your funny papers. Sometimes I think you believe the comic strips in the newspaper are a second Bible."
He replied, "Well, they have some very perceptive things to say to us at times. Who knows, perhaps God got some of his/her ideas for his/her Bible from the comic strips."
"Oh, Dad!"
"Anyway, this particular Peanuts was about Linus running over to Charlie Brown's house to tell him about a baseball game he had seen. He told his friend how exciting and close the game had been -- a cliffhanger. When the game was finally decided, the winning team ran out on the field and jumped around. The fans in the stands went crazy. Everyone was so happy and emotional. He told Charlie Brown, 'It was a sight to behold! You shoulda been there.' Charlie Brown thought for a moment and then said, 'What about the other team?' "
After thinking a moment a two, herself, Debbie said, "That really does make you think. What about the feelings of those who lose?"
Debbie's father said, "I have noticed how the losing team reacts after a world series or a championship game. The television camera pans the team on the bench or in the dugout and they are utterly dejected. Some of them even cry. But that is a dramatic difference between our world and values and God's values. In God's world there are no losers; only winners!"
"You know, Dad, I think the people in Joy's church maybe don't really want the rest of us to get to heaven. They would like to have it all to themselves, but won't really admit it."
"That is a very profound or deep thought, Deb, but we mustn't be ungenerous with our friends in that church. We should assume they want us to get to heaven also and are sincerely sorry when they think we may not make it. However, that is the 'secret plan' or good news of the Ephesians scripture. We will make it too, and they will be so glad to see us -- probably surprised -- but nevertheless, still happy we're there."
Willy The Preacher
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ."
-- Ephesians 3:8
He showed up just a few minutes before the service was to start. The choir members had already warmed up and were scooching their albs over their heads and humming parts of the anthem quietly.
The pastor saw him enter the side door. He was hunched over, not so much from age, but maybe from just too much of life. His clothing and his face looked about as battered and worn as the guitar case he held in his right hand. "Are you the pastor?" he asked with an accent or speech impediment that made him difficult to understand. The pastor nodded, trying to remember whether he had a five in his wallet and how he didn't really need the interruption right now.
"I've come to preach the sermon," the man said simply.
The pastor fought to conceal his amusement. "Well, I'm afraid I already have my sermon ready."
"I'm Willy," the man said, shifting his guitar to his left hand and thrusting out his right to shake. The pastor shook his hand and made a mental note to wash again before starting the service. "God told me to come here and preach to your congregation this morning."
"Really? Well, Willy, like I said, and I don't want to be rude, but I think that God wants me to preach this morning" and in his mind he thought (and since I'm the pastor... I win!). "Maybe some other time." Like never.
"I understand. Maybe you would let me sing a song. Maybe right after you preach, pastor."
By now it was time to start the service and it had been "suggested" at the last board meeting that he might want to start a little closer to the published time. But what to do? There wasn't even time for his gentle, but firm "bum's rush." "Well, okay, I guess. What would you be singing?"
"It's a song I wrote myself." And the pastor thought only one thing, great, just great!
Willy walked into the front of the sanctuary through a door that no one but the pastor, the acolytes, and altar guild used. He looked around, got his bearings, and made his way to the front pew, banging his guitar case on the communion railing. The quiet room became even quieter. The organist stopped the prelude in mid measure.
After the sermon the pastor said, "And now we have a special guest. His name is Willy and he feels that God led him to us this morning. He would like to sing a song that he himself wrote." The pastor nodded at Willy and sat down. Willy stood, picked up his guitar case from the floor, placed it on the pew and opened it up. One person later said that she thought he had a machine gun in there and they'd all be dead before the offering could be taken up.
Then Willy pulled the guitar on, strummed a chord so out-of-tune as to be unrecognizable and began to sing, "Sing a new song to the Lord" to a non-existent melody. The pastor could hardly keep his face straight, the congregations' jaws dropped as one, and Willy "sang" on. And on.
When he was done, the pastor thanked him and went on with the service. It was afterward that things really got interesting. The woman who thought her number was up invited Willy to coffee hour. There, within minutes, about a dozen people hovered around him. "Why do you think God wanted you here this morning?" "How do you hear God... with words or what?" "Where else has God called you?" "What is it like to feel so certain that God is calling you to his work?"
The pastor, late to join the conversation, just stood in wonder and awe, coffee in hand, thinking that he had never, in all his preaching, elicited such a lively discussion. The most he ever heard was the obligatory, "Nice words, Pastor. You gave me a lot to think about." And as he locked up the church an hour later and slowly made his way home he wondered if it weren't true, that God had told Willy to preach in his church that very morning. And even if God hadn't, God should have, because they all got a lot out of Willy and what he had to say.
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
It Would Make A Great Movie
by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Based on Isaiah 60:1-6 and the true story of Viganella, Italy
The first scene, as the opening credits roll, is a montage of a small village nestled deep in the foothills of two very tall mountains in the Italian Alps. It is not exactly dark, but it is dim and dingy. Lights are coming on in the houses. People are out walking and a couple stop and look up at the sun as it disappears at the end of the day. An old woman looks up, crosses herself, and hurriedly walks away. They all look sad. We get a glimpse of a calendar in someone's home. The day's date is circled with red marker. It is November 10.
We go outside again and see a sundial in the town square. Someone has pasted a crude sign that says, "Broken until February 3. Use your watch why don't you?"
The next scene is a noisy village council meeting. The mayor, who paid to have the sundial made and placed in the square, has come up with an idea that he is trying to convince the citizenry of. "It came to me when I commissioned the sundial," he says. "It is going to sound crazy but I'm sick and tired of living in Viganella and not being able to see the sun from November 11 to February 2. And as your mayor I think it's time we did something about it." The room erupts with noise. People are jeering the mayor. They are shouting insults at him, laughing, and poking each other.
Another person stands. A young woman gently but firmly moves the mayor aside. "Wait. Wait just a moment. Quiet!" The room goes still except for some residual snickering and elbow jabbing. "I thought our beloved mayor was a bit daft myself. After all, even though the Bible says that if we had faith... faith even the size of a mustard seed, we could move a mountain into the sea, I knew I didn't have that much faith. Nor, I am bold to say, does our beloved priest. Am I right, Father?" All eyes turn to the parish priest who looks very embarrassed by the attention. "So when the mayor told the council about his idea I thought he had lost his mind." She surveys the room and it becomes as still as a church during a sermon about giving more money in the collection. "So, I just ask you to hear him out. Take some time to think about it, and then see if it doesn't make some sense to you." She sits down. The mayor now has their full attention. He clears his throat.
"When I asked Giacomo to design the sundial I told him not to put any dates on it from November 11 to February 2 since there was no sun those days anyway. Then I said to him that if he could design a project that would bring the sun to our village I would back it with all the power of the mayor's office."
"So what's the bright idea, Mayor? Get to it!" someone shouted from the back of the room. The snickers started again.
"Well, we are going to put a mirror up on the top of the mountain. It will be 26 feet wide and 16 feet tall. We will guide it by motors and pulleys to keep it pointed correctly so that it will aim the sun into our village square." The room again erupts in laughter. Until another person, the village physician rises to speak.
"With all due respect, it sounds crazy, Mayor. Stupid, maybe. Perhaps we will call it Midali's Folly. But what have we got to loose. I see more people during these months for depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder, they call it, than in all the rest of the year. It's just not natural for humans to go without sunlight. I put people on anti-depressants. Others have arrays of lights in their homes that they sit in front of for hours a day. And I'm sure you notice that, even though our population is getting older and older, those who can, go on vacation anywhere other than between these god-forsaken mountains. And our children, even my own, have moved away."
The discussion goes on and the scene fades out.
In the next scene there are two helicopters hauling a huge piece of sheet metal up to the top of the mountain 3,600 feet up from the village, where dozens of men struggle to hold it in place and bolt it to an apparatus of motors and girders, gears and pulleys.
Below, in the village square, people, cupping a hand above their eyes, squint in the twilight at the mountain. Time passes and the scene shifts back to the mountaintop and then back to the village again. Finally the mirror begins to move. You can see brightness over in the distance lighting up trees and buildings and coming closer and closer. And then suddenly the square is flooded with light. Sunglasses go on. A cheer goes up. People are hugging each other. Some are even crying.
More people emerge from their homes. Fathers and sons from their work. Infant daughters tenderly carried. Old women are praying their rosaries and crossing themselves. Nearly everyone is pointing and half laughing, half weeping.
Just then the parish priest comes out of the church, dressed in black cassock and holding a floppy Bible that would make a television preacher proud. He walks to the sundial, steps up on the platform and eyes the crowd. They fall silent. The priest opens his Bible and begins to read: "Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.... Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice" (Isaiah 60:1-2, 5a).
The priest gently closes his Bible and speaks once again. "My dear friends, there is much rejoicing this day as there should be. No longer will our village suffer in darkness so many months each year. And so I invite you to come with me into the church where we can properly give thanks to God and understand as perhaps never before what our ancestors in the faith felt, when, after walking in darkness so long, after longing for the Messiah for so many years, yearning for the light of the world to come... perhaps we can imagine the joy they felt when they followed that star to the place where the baby Jesus lay. Arise, my friends. Shine, for your light has come and the Lord's glory has risen upon us."
And the people are seen in the village church with awe and wonder in their eyes. And our movie comes to an end or perhaps a beginning.
Rick McCracken-Bennett, an Episcopal priest and church planter, is the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. McCracken-Bennett has been an avid storyteller for almost 20 years, sharing his stories in churches, libraries, schools, and conferences. He is a member of the National Storytelling Network, the National Organization of Biblical Storytellers, and the Storytellers of Central Ohio. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explored the use of stories to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
Into The Jordan
By Frank Fisher
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
To Elizabeth, wife of Zachariah, from John son of Zachariah.
Well, I don't ordinarily make a habit of reading other people's mail. But in this case maybe I'll make an exception.
(open envelope, unfold paper)
"John who is called John the Baptist to Elizabeth, a daughter of Aaron. Greetings.
Yes mom, I know I'm not supposed to be formal when I begin a letter to you. I guess I've been hanging out with too many of the scribes and Pharisees lately. The formal way they talk makes everyone else start to be formal after a while. Of course they don't sound very formal when I call them things like a brood of vipers.
Yes, yes, I know. You didn't teach me to use words like those. And yes I am watching my diet. Locusts and wild honey are both very nutritious. Oh and by the way, I'm sending one of my camel skins home with this letter. Would you please wash it for me? Everyone's starting to complain about it getting a little too ripe.
Things have been really hoping since the last time I wrote you. People have come from all over Judea to hear me preach and to be baptized. I've seen people from all walks of life from the very rich to those who don't have a penny. There has been soldiers and teachers; beggars and scribes; potters and priests.
I remember them all mom. No matter what their place in life or their occupation. But there was one person whom I remember more than all the rest. They tell me he's a carpenter.
It was almost night when I first saw him. I was pretty tired as you can well imagine. After all I'd been up to my knees in the Jordan all day. The line of people waiting to be baptized seemed especially long. Maybe this was the one day all of them could find to get away from their work. Or maybe, just maybe, they somehow knew something very different would happen on this day.
Anyway like I said, I'd been in the Jordan baptizing people all day long. It was getting to be about dusk. And I was beginning to hope those in line would decide to come back another day.
Then suddenly there was a lull in the action. It was like I'd entered the eye of a violent storm off the Sea of Galilee. For everything around me became very, very still.
That's when I saw the carpenter. He looked tall and strong as he slowly came down the river bank. There was a hint of a smile on his face. A smile that seemed to say, "Well, don't you recognize me."
It took me a second but then I did recognize him. This carpenter was the one I'd been proclaiming. He was the one I'd been talking about when I said, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the fire of the Holy Spirit."
This person was the one who'd come after me. This carpenter was the Messiah.
His smile held me almost immobile as he came down the bank and into the water. He walked up to me expectantly, and just stood there waiting to be baptized. For a moment I tried to talk him out of it. After all, I was the one who should be baptized by him. But he just smiled again and shook his head. There was something in his look that said, "It's okay. This is what must be done."
So I did it. I took hold of him just like I did anyone else. And then just like anyone else I lowered him down toward the Jordan's waters. And he came up out of those waters soaked to the skin just like anyone else. Then with his clothes dripping with the Jordan's water he walked toward the shore, climbed the bank, smiled, and walked slowly away just like anyone else.
I can almost hear you saying Mom, "Well if everything about him was just like everyone else what makes him so special? Why do you think this carpenter's the Messiah?"
It's kind of hard to tell you these things Mom. I know you think someone who lives off in the desert like I do is probably... well, about one commandment short of a full tablet. But there were some things about his baptism that weren't like the baptisms of just anyone else.
It was mostly what happened when he went in water that sets him apart in my mind, Mom. When I've baptized anyone else, I knew they went in the water and they came out of the water.
Yes I know that sounds pretty basic. But with the carpenter it was different. He didn't simply go in the water. Instead he actually went into the Jordan. It was if he entered the water and drowned.
All I could do was stand there in dismay watching the hope of all Israel die before me. But as I stood frozen watching, I saw something else. In my mind, I saw an endless line of people. People who were dressed in all kinds of different ways and who had all different colors of skin. And these billions and billions of people were joyfully following the carpenter into the Jordan's water. And they too were dying there with him.
For a long moment, I continued to stand there as if frozen in time and space. But the moment passed and the carpenter came back out of the water. And as he came out I saw something else again. This time it was if I was seeing with his eyes and hearing with his ears. For I somehow know as he came out of the water he saw the very heavens ripped asunder. And out of the heavens there came the Spirit of God descending on him like a dove.
Then as the dove alighted on his forehead I know there was a voice; a voice like thunder coming from the heavens. And the voice said, "You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
Now I'd seen quite enough for one day. I'm sure you'll agree with that Mom. But it wasn't all I saw. For as the Carpenter left the water all those people who'd entered the water with him came back out. At first they seemed to be the same as when they went in. Then as they passed me, I saw something different. Just as the carpenter had been marked by the dove, these people too were marked.
They were marked with a mark that shone boldly on their foreheads. They were all marked with a sign that to me spoke of horror and death. Yet I could see to them it was a seal of a promise and a sign of a hope. You see Mom, each of their foreheads was marked; marked with the sign of a cross.
Mom I have to tell you, I was frightened out of my wits. But as I stood there shaking, one of the billions of people seemed to turn aside and look at me. He was dressed like a Pharisee. Somehow I knew his name was Paul. And as he turned aside he seemed to speak to me for a just a second saying, "Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life."
I'm not too sure Mom, just what he meant with his talk of death and new life. But somehow I know something pretty important happened on that day.
Give my love to father Mom. I miss him and I miss you. Don't worry about me. Even though Herod has me in prison I know I'll be okay. In fact all three of us will be okay. For you see Mom, we were among the people who came out of the water with the Carpenter.
Blessings to you Mom. Blessings in the Name of the One who comes after me. Blessings in the Name of the Messiah: Jesus the Carpenter.
Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB, is a second-career interim/transitional pastor in the Presbyterian Church (USA). He currently serves as the interim pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Bushnell, Illinois. During the final years of his first career as a paramedic and administrator for the Chicago Fire Department, Fisher graduated from McCormick Theological Seminary and was ordained. He is an Oblate of the ecumenical Abbey of John the Baptist and Saint Benedict in Bartonville, Illinois, where he has joined the rapidly growing number of those who are called to follow Saint Benedict's rule.
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How to Share Stories
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StoryShare, January 6-7, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
