Free Stories/illustrations For Proper 8 | Ordinary Time 13
Stories
Object:
Who Is In Favor of Child Sacrifice?
by John Sumwalt
After these things God tested Abraham. He said to him, "Abraham!" And he said, "Here I am." He said, "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I will show you."
Genesis 22:1-2
Child sacrifice was a common practice in the ancient world. Archeologists have often found the bones of small children under the doorways of prehistoric and some historic homes. The oldest child was sometimes sacrificed as a way of seeking protection for the family.
In 800 B.C., in the time of the prophet Elisha, when the king of Moab was losing a great battle to the Israelite army and knew that there was no hope for victory, he "took his eldest son who would have succeeded him and offered him as a whole offering upon the city wall. The Israelites were filled with such consternation at this sight that they struck camp and returned to their land" (2 Kings 3:27).
During the Iran-Iraq war in the late 1980s, the government of Iran drafted hundreds of thousands of teenage boys, as young as 13 years old, and with very little training sent them in human waves against Iraqi machine guns, mortars, rockets, and poison gas.
God said to Abraham, "Take your only son, the one whom you love, and sacrifice him..."
For what would you sacrifice your child?
Some of you fathers who fought in World War II, in Korea, or in Vietnam know the horrors of war, and you know something of Abraham's anguish in this moment. Some of you have sent sons and daughters off to Iraq and Afghanistan. Which was more difficult -- to go off to war yourself, or to send that child that you loved? There goes the promise of future generations in your family. There goes your hope for grandchildren. There goes your pride and joy, the one you love with all of your heart. Will he/she come back? Will there be a future for your family?
My good friend Ken Anderson, now a retired United Methodist preacher, tells about the time his oldest son, Curt, was sent to Vietnam in 1968. Ken says, "I remember feeling fear in a way that I had never experienced it before. It was different from the fear I had known as a fighter pilot in World War II. I had been shot at, seen friends shot down and killed, been frightened almost out of my wits more times than I cared to remember, but this was far worse. I felt a deep, abiding, terrible dread. Curt was my oldest son. I didn't want to let him go.... When I looked out the window that day and saw the major coming up the walk, I knew why he had come before I opened the door. He told us Curt's helicopter had been shot down, that it had crashed and burned, and that Curt was missing. Two days later he came back to tell us Curt's body had been found."
There was Abraham. God said, "Take your only son whom you love... and offer his as a sacrifice." And Abraham set out to do it. How could he have done that, we say? Why didn't he say to God, "Take me instead; I'm an old man, let my son live"? That's what we all would like to think we would do.
But think about it for a moment, lest we judge old Abe too harshly. We are all of us quite willing to sacrifice our children in many different ways. Phyllis Trible, professor of sacred literature at Union Theological Seminary in New York, was one of the panelists on Bill Moyers' discussion of this story on a PBS documentary a few years ago. Phyllis said, "That's one reason this story is so terrifying to all of us -- because at some level, we all suspect that we have been sacrificed by our parents. And if we're parents, we fear that we'll do the same thing to our children. Parents are always sacrificing their children... to their ambitions, to success, to their pride, to whatever. That's one reason people hate this story." (Genesis: A Living Conversation, Doubleday, 1996)
"Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven... And Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns."
Had the ram been there all along? Did it take an act of God for Abraham to see it?
James Sanders, in his book God Has a Story Too, writes of this text:
"...in Abraham we see our human tendency to believe that existence depends on God's gifts rather than on God the giver of these gifts.... Whenever we are seduced, as indeed we constantly are, to think that our existence depends on creation or that the church depends on the church, we must face the divine question, the judgment of God on our very life, 'Have we mistaken God's gift for God the giver? Have we come to think that the guarantee of existence resides in ourselves?' "
Sanders adds: "He who gives life the first time can also give it again. The marvel in the Bible is not Resurrection or re-Creation but Creation. For belief in the first is already belief in the second."
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, June 28, 1998.
**********************************************************************
The Tie
By Craig Kelly
Matthew 10:40-42
This was the hardest part. One would think that after doing this so many times, it would become automatic. But he still had to talk himself through it.
"Fat end over skinny... fat end up and through... fat end -- is it the fat or skinny end, now -- fat, yes, fat end over to the left...."
"Come on, honey! We're going to be late, and you know there's always a huge line!"
"I know, dear, I know, just give me a minute, okay?"
She yelled again from outside the room. "You're tying that tie, aren't you?"
"No!" he yelled before thinking about it. Grimacing, he finally yelled, "Yes," although slightly quieter than before.
"Jake, you've had trouble with that Windsor knot as long as I've known you! Don't worry about it! We've got to go!" The voice was getting impatient.
"Mary, now, we've talked about this! If I'm going, I'm wearing a tie! Got it?" He grimaced again. He softened his tone while keeping the same volume. "It's important, Mary. You know how I feel about this."
Hurriedly, he turned his attention back to his bedroom mirror. Quietly, he continued: "Fat end back around to the right... back up underneath... through the loop, and --" he gave it a tug to tighten it -- "done." Flipping his collar back down, he hastily reached into the closet for his suit jacket, pulling it off the metal hanger with such force that it twirled around the curtain rod like a gymnast, finally falling with a ting onto the floor, a piece of metal bent and deformed by the force of Jake's pull.
Jake took a quick look at it. I'll fix it later, he thought. At least that's something I can do.
"Coming, Mary!" He broke out into as much as a run as his bum leg could muster, although to the average onlooker, it wouldn't look like running. Ever since that cave-in at the coal mine 23 years ago that crushed the muscles in his leg, walking without a cane, let alone running, was a battle.
"Jake! Jake, don't run now! We'll have time, don't worry," Mary said as she ran as fast toward the bedroom as her high heels would let her. This, too, did not look like much of a run to the average spectator.
She met Jake at the door of their bedroom, stabilizing him just as he was about to lose balance. Holding him up, she smiled. "We have more time than I thought. We'll make it." He knew she was lying, but he didn't argue.
Their bedroom was at the end of a long corridor that ran from it past another bedroom and a bathroom, finally to the kitchen/dining room of their small trailer. Wasn't much, but it kept the rain off, as Jake would say. Handing Jake his cane, Mary took his free hand and led him down the hallway, out the front door, to their awaiting '88 Chevy truck. Just like every Thursday before, just like every Thursday to come.
After coaxing the engine back to life, Mary guided their truck down a small road, turning onto the hilly, twisting road that was West Virginia Highway 15. Jake never spoke during this particular weekly trip. Mary never spoke either, giving Jake his space. Jake just rolled down his window, allowing the mountain air to play in his salt-and-pepper hair -- more salt than pepper these days. His birth certificate swore he was only 62, but he may as well have been 92. He felt that old.
Old... old and poor... old and poor and useless.... He could keep going, but that was a dark road, and he didn't feel like leading his mind down there again.
After a 25-minute drive, they finally reached their destination: Mount Sinai Mountain Mission. Grocery day. The lineup had indeed already started, trailing out the front door, down the porch steps, past the front corner of the house. They would be waiting a while. It was usually an all-day affair anyway. Dressed in his good, black suit with his blue-striped tie, Jake slowly slipped out of the cab, leaning on his cane for balance. Mary came around, dressed in her bright blue paisley dress, walking gingerly in her high heels, extending her hand to help support her husband. Once Jake regained his bearings, they slowly made their way to the end of the line.
For as long as it was, the line was moving fairly quickly. Within an hour, they were slowly making their way up the porch steps, able to see inside the mission, where paper bags full of groceries awaited. Wouldn't be long now.
Jake hated it. Every moment of it. He never had to take handouts from anyone. Yet here he was, holding out his hand like a beggar in the street. It sickened him. That's why he had to dress up every Thursday; at least he wasn't going to look like a beggar.
One by one, each family filtered in, got their bag, and filtered out. At last, Jake and Mary made their way to the front door. Jake wondered in the back of his mind where the mission group was from this time. If he remembered correctly, Mel, the elderly man who ran the facility with his wife, Jan, said last week that the group today would be from... one of those short-named states... Ohio? Iowa? Utah? Something like that. They were all the same anyway. Come to the poor part of West Virginia, hand out some macaroni and cheese, talking about how they're the "body of Christ," his "hands and feet" and all that, and go home feeling good about themselves. Nothing ever changes.
Just as Jake and Mary's turn was about to come up, Mel made his way out the door. A big-bellied, big-bearded man with a constant smile on his face, Mel always reminded Jake of Santa Claus, except he was there all the time with groceries instead of toys. His smile was still beaming.
"Hey, Jake, how you doing?" He placed a firm yet gentle hand on Jake's shoulder.
"Hey, Mel, doing good -- you?"
"Not too bad, Jake, not too bad. Looking sharp, as always."
"Thanks, Mel. You're looking good, too." Jake barely looked at him.
Mel turned his attention to the lineup. "Hey, everyone, how's it going? Just wanted to let you know that we're getting some kids from the team to work the front desk. Now, they're still learning the ropes, so be real patient with them, okay? Okay, they should be ready here to get going again in just a few minutes!" He flashed his big smile and shuffled back into the mission.
Great. Another delay. This day would never end. Jake sighed in frustration, resigned to wait his turn.
As he looked through the doorway, Jake thought he saw someone in the corner fidgeting. Finally there came a grunt of frustration.
"I can't get it!"
Jake looked to see a young member of the mission team, maybe 13 or 14, struggling with something on his shirt. One of the older members of the team, a lady, came to check on the frustrated teen.
"I can't get this tie to work!" Obviously, this team placed an emphasis on formal dress. The kids had to wear ties, too.
Unfortunately, the female missionary had little experience working with ties. The kid was definitely in trouble.
"Hey, you trying to use a Windsor knot?"
The kid looked up to see who was speaking. Jake was surprised to discover it was him.
"Uh, yeah," the kid replied.
Jake shuffled into the mission, working his way over to the teenage stranger. He pulled up a chair, slowly sinking into it.
"My dad tried to show me how to do it before I left, but I can't remember," the boy said sheepishly.
"Well, let's see what we can do about that," Jake said, trying to sound confident. He reached up and untied his tie, letting it hang around his neck. "Okay, kid, stand here beside me and do what I do." The boy obeyed without a word. "Now, let the fat end hang down a little lower," Jake began, pulling the boy's tie down a bit at the one end. "There you go. Now, fat end over skinny..." Jake demonstrated on his own. "Right... bring the fat end up and through the hole, like you're tying a shoelace... that's right...." Jake slowly repeated the same litany he said to himself every Thursday morning in front of the mirror. The young missionary hung on his every word, following Jake's instructions to the letter, watching the old mountain man's tie to make sure he was doing it right. "Now, pull the fat end up underneath one more time... now tuck it under that loop you made there... good. Now pull the fat end through.... There you have it! Now hold the skinny end and tighten it up." They simultaneously pulled the knot on their ties up to the collar. Jake smiled. "Not bad for a first try."
The boy beamed a wide grin as he showed off his knot-tying skills to Jake. "Thank you, sir," he said, "I'll do my best to remember how to do this. I really appreciate it."
Jake smiled a little wider. "Ah, it was nothin'," he said. Leaning on his cane, he rose to his feet, Mary quickly as his side to steady him. Funny, his feet felt a little lighter now. The boy quickly ran behind the front counter, grabbing a bag of groceries. He slowly carried it to Mary, trying to be careful not to drop it. "Here you go, ma'am," he said politely. Mary thanked him and steadied Jake as they made their way out of the mission.
As they walked back to the truck, Mary noticed that Jake still had a smile on his face. Catching her staring, Jake grinned a little even as he struggled to hobble his way to the truck. "You doing good?" Mary asked.
"Yeah, I'm doing good," Jake replied, still smiling. "It's not every day you get the chance to teach Jesus how to tie a tie."
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing.
by John Sumwalt
After these things God tested Abraham. He said to him, "Abraham!" And he said, "Here I am." He said, "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I will show you."
Genesis 22:1-2
Child sacrifice was a common practice in the ancient world. Archeologists have often found the bones of small children under the doorways of prehistoric and some historic homes. The oldest child was sometimes sacrificed as a way of seeking protection for the family.
In 800 B.C., in the time of the prophet Elisha, when the king of Moab was losing a great battle to the Israelite army and knew that there was no hope for victory, he "took his eldest son who would have succeeded him and offered him as a whole offering upon the city wall. The Israelites were filled with such consternation at this sight that they struck camp and returned to their land" (2 Kings 3:27).
During the Iran-Iraq war in the late 1980s, the government of Iran drafted hundreds of thousands of teenage boys, as young as 13 years old, and with very little training sent them in human waves against Iraqi machine guns, mortars, rockets, and poison gas.
God said to Abraham, "Take your only son, the one whom you love, and sacrifice him..."
For what would you sacrifice your child?
Some of you fathers who fought in World War II, in Korea, or in Vietnam know the horrors of war, and you know something of Abraham's anguish in this moment. Some of you have sent sons and daughters off to Iraq and Afghanistan. Which was more difficult -- to go off to war yourself, or to send that child that you loved? There goes the promise of future generations in your family. There goes your hope for grandchildren. There goes your pride and joy, the one you love with all of your heart. Will he/she come back? Will there be a future for your family?
My good friend Ken Anderson, now a retired United Methodist preacher, tells about the time his oldest son, Curt, was sent to Vietnam in 1968. Ken says, "I remember feeling fear in a way that I had never experienced it before. It was different from the fear I had known as a fighter pilot in World War II. I had been shot at, seen friends shot down and killed, been frightened almost out of my wits more times than I cared to remember, but this was far worse. I felt a deep, abiding, terrible dread. Curt was my oldest son. I didn't want to let him go.... When I looked out the window that day and saw the major coming up the walk, I knew why he had come before I opened the door. He told us Curt's helicopter had been shot down, that it had crashed and burned, and that Curt was missing. Two days later he came back to tell us Curt's body had been found."
There was Abraham. God said, "Take your only son whom you love... and offer his as a sacrifice." And Abraham set out to do it. How could he have done that, we say? Why didn't he say to God, "Take me instead; I'm an old man, let my son live"? That's what we all would like to think we would do.
But think about it for a moment, lest we judge old Abe too harshly. We are all of us quite willing to sacrifice our children in many different ways. Phyllis Trible, professor of sacred literature at Union Theological Seminary in New York, was one of the panelists on Bill Moyers' discussion of this story on a PBS documentary a few years ago. Phyllis said, "That's one reason this story is so terrifying to all of us -- because at some level, we all suspect that we have been sacrificed by our parents. And if we're parents, we fear that we'll do the same thing to our children. Parents are always sacrificing their children... to their ambitions, to success, to their pride, to whatever. That's one reason people hate this story." (Genesis: A Living Conversation, Doubleday, 1996)
"Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven... And Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns."
Had the ram been there all along? Did it take an act of God for Abraham to see it?
James Sanders, in his book God Has a Story Too, writes of this text:
"...in Abraham we see our human tendency to believe that existence depends on God's gifts rather than on God the giver of these gifts.... Whenever we are seduced, as indeed we constantly are, to think that our existence depends on creation or that the church depends on the church, we must face the divine question, the judgment of God on our very life, 'Have we mistaken God's gift for God the giver? Have we come to think that the guarantee of existence resides in ourselves?' "
Sanders adds: "He who gives life the first time can also give it again. The marvel in the Bible is not Resurrection or re-Creation but Creation. For belief in the first is already belief in the second."
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, June 28, 1998.
**********************************************************************
The Tie
By Craig Kelly
Matthew 10:40-42
This was the hardest part. One would think that after doing this so many times, it would become automatic. But he still had to talk himself through it.
"Fat end over skinny... fat end up and through... fat end -- is it the fat or skinny end, now -- fat, yes, fat end over to the left...."
"Come on, honey! We're going to be late, and you know there's always a huge line!"
"I know, dear, I know, just give me a minute, okay?"
She yelled again from outside the room. "You're tying that tie, aren't you?"
"No!" he yelled before thinking about it. Grimacing, he finally yelled, "Yes," although slightly quieter than before.
"Jake, you've had trouble with that Windsor knot as long as I've known you! Don't worry about it! We've got to go!" The voice was getting impatient.
"Mary, now, we've talked about this! If I'm going, I'm wearing a tie! Got it?" He grimaced again. He softened his tone while keeping the same volume. "It's important, Mary. You know how I feel about this."
Hurriedly, he turned his attention back to his bedroom mirror. Quietly, he continued: "Fat end back around to the right... back up underneath... through the loop, and --" he gave it a tug to tighten it -- "done." Flipping his collar back down, he hastily reached into the closet for his suit jacket, pulling it off the metal hanger with such force that it twirled around the curtain rod like a gymnast, finally falling with a ting onto the floor, a piece of metal bent and deformed by the force of Jake's pull.
Jake took a quick look at it. I'll fix it later, he thought. At least that's something I can do.
"Coming, Mary!" He broke out into as much as a run as his bum leg could muster, although to the average onlooker, it wouldn't look like running. Ever since that cave-in at the coal mine 23 years ago that crushed the muscles in his leg, walking without a cane, let alone running, was a battle.
"Jake! Jake, don't run now! We'll have time, don't worry," Mary said as she ran as fast toward the bedroom as her high heels would let her. This, too, did not look like much of a run to the average spectator.
She met Jake at the door of their bedroom, stabilizing him just as he was about to lose balance. Holding him up, she smiled. "We have more time than I thought. We'll make it." He knew she was lying, but he didn't argue.
Their bedroom was at the end of a long corridor that ran from it past another bedroom and a bathroom, finally to the kitchen/dining room of their small trailer. Wasn't much, but it kept the rain off, as Jake would say. Handing Jake his cane, Mary took his free hand and led him down the hallway, out the front door, to their awaiting '88 Chevy truck. Just like every Thursday before, just like every Thursday to come.
After coaxing the engine back to life, Mary guided their truck down a small road, turning onto the hilly, twisting road that was West Virginia Highway 15. Jake never spoke during this particular weekly trip. Mary never spoke either, giving Jake his space. Jake just rolled down his window, allowing the mountain air to play in his salt-and-pepper hair -- more salt than pepper these days. His birth certificate swore he was only 62, but he may as well have been 92. He felt that old.
Old... old and poor... old and poor and useless.... He could keep going, but that was a dark road, and he didn't feel like leading his mind down there again.
After a 25-minute drive, they finally reached their destination: Mount Sinai Mountain Mission. Grocery day. The lineup had indeed already started, trailing out the front door, down the porch steps, past the front corner of the house. They would be waiting a while. It was usually an all-day affair anyway. Dressed in his good, black suit with his blue-striped tie, Jake slowly slipped out of the cab, leaning on his cane for balance. Mary came around, dressed in her bright blue paisley dress, walking gingerly in her high heels, extending her hand to help support her husband. Once Jake regained his bearings, they slowly made their way to the end of the line.
For as long as it was, the line was moving fairly quickly. Within an hour, they were slowly making their way up the porch steps, able to see inside the mission, where paper bags full of groceries awaited. Wouldn't be long now.
Jake hated it. Every moment of it. He never had to take handouts from anyone. Yet here he was, holding out his hand like a beggar in the street. It sickened him. That's why he had to dress up every Thursday; at least he wasn't going to look like a beggar.
One by one, each family filtered in, got their bag, and filtered out. At last, Jake and Mary made their way to the front door. Jake wondered in the back of his mind where the mission group was from this time. If he remembered correctly, Mel, the elderly man who ran the facility with his wife, Jan, said last week that the group today would be from... one of those short-named states... Ohio? Iowa? Utah? Something like that. They were all the same anyway. Come to the poor part of West Virginia, hand out some macaroni and cheese, talking about how they're the "body of Christ," his "hands and feet" and all that, and go home feeling good about themselves. Nothing ever changes.
Just as Jake and Mary's turn was about to come up, Mel made his way out the door. A big-bellied, big-bearded man with a constant smile on his face, Mel always reminded Jake of Santa Claus, except he was there all the time with groceries instead of toys. His smile was still beaming.
"Hey, Jake, how you doing?" He placed a firm yet gentle hand on Jake's shoulder.
"Hey, Mel, doing good -- you?"
"Not too bad, Jake, not too bad. Looking sharp, as always."
"Thanks, Mel. You're looking good, too." Jake barely looked at him.
Mel turned his attention to the lineup. "Hey, everyone, how's it going? Just wanted to let you know that we're getting some kids from the team to work the front desk. Now, they're still learning the ropes, so be real patient with them, okay? Okay, they should be ready here to get going again in just a few minutes!" He flashed his big smile and shuffled back into the mission.
Great. Another delay. This day would never end. Jake sighed in frustration, resigned to wait his turn.
As he looked through the doorway, Jake thought he saw someone in the corner fidgeting. Finally there came a grunt of frustration.
"I can't get it!"
Jake looked to see a young member of the mission team, maybe 13 or 14, struggling with something on his shirt. One of the older members of the team, a lady, came to check on the frustrated teen.
"I can't get this tie to work!" Obviously, this team placed an emphasis on formal dress. The kids had to wear ties, too.
Unfortunately, the female missionary had little experience working with ties. The kid was definitely in trouble.
"Hey, you trying to use a Windsor knot?"
The kid looked up to see who was speaking. Jake was surprised to discover it was him.
"Uh, yeah," the kid replied.
Jake shuffled into the mission, working his way over to the teenage stranger. He pulled up a chair, slowly sinking into it.
"My dad tried to show me how to do it before I left, but I can't remember," the boy said sheepishly.
"Well, let's see what we can do about that," Jake said, trying to sound confident. He reached up and untied his tie, letting it hang around his neck. "Okay, kid, stand here beside me and do what I do." The boy obeyed without a word. "Now, let the fat end hang down a little lower," Jake began, pulling the boy's tie down a bit at the one end. "There you go. Now, fat end over skinny..." Jake demonstrated on his own. "Right... bring the fat end up and through the hole, like you're tying a shoelace... that's right...." Jake slowly repeated the same litany he said to himself every Thursday morning in front of the mirror. The young missionary hung on his every word, following Jake's instructions to the letter, watching the old mountain man's tie to make sure he was doing it right. "Now, pull the fat end up underneath one more time... now tuck it under that loop you made there... good. Now pull the fat end through.... There you have it! Now hold the skinny end and tighten it up." They simultaneously pulled the knot on their ties up to the collar. Jake smiled. "Not bad for a first try."
The boy beamed a wide grin as he showed off his knot-tying skills to Jake. "Thank you, sir," he said, "I'll do my best to remember how to do this. I really appreciate it."
Jake smiled a little wider. "Ah, it was nothin'," he said. Leaning on his cane, he rose to his feet, Mary quickly as his side to steady him. Funny, his feet felt a little lighter now. The boy quickly ran behind the front counter, grabbing a bag of groceries. He slowly carried it to Mary, trying to be careful not to drop it. "Here you go, ma'am," he said politely. Mary thanked him and steadied Jake as they made their way out of the mission.
As they walked back to the truck, Mary noticed that Jake still had a smile on his face. Catching her staring, Jake grinned a little even as he struggled to hobble his way to the truck. "You doing good?" Mary asked.
"Yeah, I'm doing good," Jake replied, still smiling. "It's not every day you get the chance to teach Jesus how to tie a tie."
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing.
