Storyshare

Contents

A Story To Live By: "Healing Touch."
Shining Moments: "The Gift of Trees," Pamela Tinnin
Good Stories: "Molly's Comfort," John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "More On Mel Gibson's 'The Passion' "
"Upcoming Workshop On Vision Stories"

A Story To Live By
Healing Touch

They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases;
and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured.
And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came
out from him and healed all of them. Luke 6:8-19

Parker Palmer tells about a "dark night of the soul" time in his life when healing began through the touch of a friend.

"Twice in my life I have experienced deep depression. Both times various friends tried to rescue me with well-intended encouragement and advice: 'Get outside and enjoy the sunshine,' or 'You have such a good life -- why be depressed?' or 'I know a book that might really help you.' For all their good intentions, these friends made me even more depressed. They did not understand what I was going through, did not understand that there was no easy 'fix.'

"In the midst of my depression I had a friend who took a different tack. Every afternoon at around four o'clock he came to me, sat me in a chair, removed my shoes, and massaged my feet. He hardly said a word, but he was there, he was with me. He was a lifeline for me, a link to the human community and thus to my humanity. He had no need to 'fix' me."
Parker J. Palmer, The Active Life: A Spirituality of Work, Creativity, and Caring, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, p. 85.

Shining Moments
The Gift of Trees
Pamela Tinnin

Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is in
the Lord. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending
out its roots by the stream. Jeremiah 17:7-8a

I remember the first time I planted trees. It was almost thirty years ago, on a dairy farm on the side of a mountain in Oregon. The farm belonged to two brothers in their eighties, shy bachelors who lived in the house they had built in the latter 1920s. The Steinhaurs had emigrated from Germany and had hoped to marry and raise families in America. Somehow marriage had never happened for either of them, so they grew old together, the big house echoing with the clomp of their boots in the kitchen, and the sound of their voices at breakfast each morning, planning the day's chores.

We met by accident. Friends of mine lived down the road from them and fairly frequently I'd drive past their place, always admiring how well-kept it was -- fences and buildings painted white, a fine looking barn with an arched roof and their fruit tree orchard with neatly pruned apple, pear, and cherry trees.

One day I saw one of their Brown Swiss cows wandering on the road. Off to the right, there was an open gate. I stopped the car and cautiously approached. The cow was placid enough, and ambled towards the gate, plodding along, tail switching back and forth. Just as she walked into the pasture, the brothers drove up in an old Ford pickup. They couldn't thank me enough and insisted I come up to the house for a cup of tea.

After we introduced ourselves, they bustled around the kitchen. Harald set out cups and saucers, three worn silver spoons, a jar of amber honey, a small pitcher of thick cream, and a plate of Oreo cookies. Oscar filled the teapot and put it on the stove, then cut a lemon into thin slices. I noticed when they sat down, they bowed their heads for just a moment, whispered a prayer, and crossed themselves.

They asked me all kinds of questions – about my parents, my husband and children, where I was from, why I had moved to Scotts Mills. In turn, they told me of growing up in Germany, of the war years, of the terrible times after the war. In 1921, their parents, wanting something better for their sons, scraped together everything they had and sent them to the United States, knowing they would probably never see them again.

I never did get to my friends' house that day. The brothers wanted to show me their orchard, and we spent the afternoon in the warm spring sunshine, the air sweet with the smell of apple blossoms and loud with the buzzing that came from the white box beehives at the far end of the field.

Over the next year, I spent a lot of time with Harald and Oscar. Not only did I enjoy their company, but I yearned to be a farmer and I knew they were the kind of farmers I dreamed of being. One of the times I remember most was when we planted trees. By then they were 83 and 85, but still able to put in a hard day's work. We planted a half dozen trees that afternoon, two apples and two pears in the orchard, and two elm trees up near the house, small spindly sticks without a sign of life. It was one of those days that stay in your memory as being as close to perfect as a day can be.

Not a month after that, Oscar died quietly in his sleep. Afterwards, Harald went rapidly downhill. Within a year, the Social Services people stepped in, auctioned off the cows, equipment and belongings, and moved Harald to Salem to live in a nursing home. I dreamed of buying the farm, of keeping it just like they did, but I had no money. It sold for over a third above market value to city people looking for a weekend retreat.

In the next months, I visited Harald often. Even after he stopped speaking, he still smiled with pleasure when he saw me. It wasn't long, though, before my family and I moved away. For several years I wrote letters, sent Christmas and birthday cards, but I never heard from him again, not until the day one of my cards was returned stamped “addressee deceased.”

When I think of the afternoon we planted the trees I can almost hear the sound of Harald's voice, the heavy German accent that seemed to become more pronounced the longer I knew him. “You may ask why we plant trees,” he said, “two old men, with no children, no family. Well, Miss Pamela, we plant trees for God.”

They were my friends; two old men who some people might have thought had little to show for their lives, just a small mountain farm that in the end was sold to strangers. Years after they'd gone, I drove up that winding road to see their place one last time. I knew it would be different and it was. The house was painted green, a deck added to the front, and a swimming pool behind. But the barn looked the same, and beyond it, the orchard still stood. When I saw it, it took my breath away, a field of white and pink blossoms so thick I couldn't see the branches on the trees.

I thought of Harald and Oscar, who, with generous and loving hearts, poured their lives into one small portion of creation. For over sixty years, they not only gave of their time and money to their church, they tended the land with respect and care, treated their animals with kindness, and were always quick to help their neighbors. When I met them, they were near the end of their journey, but they were still opening their home to strangers and planting trees for God. If we answer God's call, can we do any less?

Pamela J. Tinnin is the pastor of Partridge Community Church -- UCC, the only church in Partridge, Kansas (population 250). She was an editor at the University of California-Berklley, for ten years, a freelance writer, and a sheep rancher. Recently Pam collaborated with two United Methodist pastors on a collection of dramatic monologue sermons. The book will be released in the fall of 2004 by CSS Publishing Company.


Good Stories
Molly's Comfort
John Sumwalt

Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.
Luke 6:21b

There was once a little girl named Molly who had a big Black Labrador dog named Flap Jack. She called him Flap Jack because he liked to eat pancakes. Pancakes were his favorite food. Whenever Molly's mother made pancakes for breakfast, she made about a dozen for the family and two dozen for Flap Jack!

In many ways Flap Jack was like a best friend. He and Molly did everything together. Flap Jack would meet her at the door every day after school, and then off they would go. Sometimes they went exploring in the woods, or fishing down at the pond. Whenever Molly got a nibble, Flap Jack would swim out after the fish. Flap Jack always scared all of the fish away, but Molly wouldn't go without him. At night Flap Jack slept at the foot of Molly's bed. It made her feel safe and warm inside just knowing he was there.

One day when Molly came home from school Flap Jack wasn't there to meet her. She called, "Here, Flappy," at the top of her voice, but he didn't come. She looked everywhere for him, in her bedroom, in the basement, in the woods, and down by the pond, but Flap Jack was nowhere to be found.

That night one of their neighbors came to the door. He said he was very sorry to have to tell them that their big black dog had been run over by a car. At first Molly couldn't believe what she had heard. Flap Jack dead? It just couldn't be! Molly ran into her room and slammed the door. She sat very still in the darkness for a long time, thinking about all the wonderful times she and Flap Jack had shared. After a while her dad came in and asked how she was doing. Molly didn't say a word. She just climbed up on his lap, put her head on his shoulder and cried until she couldn't cry anymore.

Molly was sad for a long time. In fact she began to wonder if she would ever get over being sad. Life just wasn't the same without Flap Jack. Her parents offered to get her another dog, but Molly didn't think another dog would help. There weren't any other dogs like Flap Jack.

One day after school, Molly stopped to see her old neighbor, Mrs. Wilcox. Mrs. Wilcox was almost 90 and had lived up the road from Molly's house for as long as anyone could remember. She took one look at Molly and said, "You're feeling sad, aren't you? Come in and tell me about it right now." Well, that was all it took. Molly told her the whole story, and when she had finished she said, "And now I'm all alone and I don't know what to do."

Mrs. Wilcox said, "I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you what I did when I felt like you feel." She said, "When my husband Jack died 15 years ago, I was devastated. I thought I would never get over it. How could I go on living without Jack? We had been married for 50 years. I felt sorry for myself for months and months. I decided to pray about it one day and it was then that it came to me almost as if God was speaking to me directly: 'Look around you. You are not the only one who is sad. Go and help others who are sad. You can do it best because you know how they feel!' So I went," Mrs. Wilcox said, "Whenever I heard that someone had lost a loved one, I made it my business to go to them and let them know that I cared. And do you know, Molly, I discovered that God had given me a special gift. I was able to help other people feel better, and that made me feel better, too."

Molly never forgot what Mrs. Wilcox told her. Whenever she heard that someone had lost a pet, a friend, a grandpa or a grandma, she was there to let them know that she cared. And do you know what? One day Molly discovered that she wasn't sad anymore. In fact, she was bursting with joy because her caring had helped so many people who had been feeling sad.

Scrap Pile
More On Mel Gibson's "The Passion"

Sue Jamison wrote to us in response to last week's article about "The Passion of the Christ."

"I've been hearing just a few things about Mel Gibson's movie. An interesting article by John Dominic Crossan is on beliefnet about censorship of any criticism of the movie. I will probably not see the movie as I don't do well with graphic violence, but I agree that it's important to know what's up since many of our parishioners might see it."

Sue

John Dominic Crossan expresses concern about the confidentiality agreement he had to sign in order to see a pre-screening of "The Passion of the Christ."

"What bothered me most about that Statement of Confidentiality's disjunction was not just its clear attempt at censorship or its even clearer attempt to promote interest by secrecy and conspiracy. What bothered me intensely was the way it contradicted the character and attitude of its own subject, that Jesus who spoke always openly and publicly, who received and accepted both loving support and lethal criticism. If the Gospel of the Christ was so publicly open, why is "The Passion of the Christ" open only to support but closed to criticism? If you cannot take criticism, Mr. Gibson, get out of the Passion."

Crossan also speaks about the content of the movie:

To see the full article go to: http://www.Beliefnet.com/frameset.asp?boardID=68277&pageloc=/story/139/s...

This site also includes the following articles:

"Censoring The Gospels" by David Klinghffer. "Gibson's movie can't be more searing than the Gospels themselves."

"Painful To Watch But Not Anti-Semitic," by David Horowitz

"The Rebirth of Great Catholic Art" by Deal Hudson

"The Real Problem With The Passion" by Amy-Jill Levine

"What Mel Missed: Why the Gospels Don't Focus On Blood and Gore," by

Frederica Matthews-Green There is also a copy of the Confidentiality agreement people have been asked to sign before seeing a pre-viewing of the movie.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Upcoming Workshop In Osceola, Iowa

Author and storyteller, John Sumwalt of Milwaukee, will tell stories from his new books, "Sharing Visions," and lead a workshop on "Vision Stories In The Bible and Today" at The Osceola United Methodist Church, in Osceola, Iowa on Saturday, February 28 from 10:00 - 2:00 PM. Osceola UMC is located at 130 West Grant Street. Reservations are needed by Wed. Feb. 25, 2004. Please phone reservations to 641.342.2830.
Lunch will be served and the cost for registration is $10.00.

John will tell Biblical as well as modern vision stories and compare them to stories told by historical figures such as Pope Pius 12 and Martin Luther King Jr.

The Bible is filled with many familiar stories of visions - Moses and the burning bush, Samuel's call in the temple, Jacob's Ladder Dream, the angel's annunciation to Mary, and Paul's Damascus road experience, to name just a few.

People didn't stop having visions after Biblical times. We just don't talk about them as much for fear people will think we are crazy. Sumwalt said, "Whenever I tell these stories people come up to me afterwards and tell me a vision story and then they always add, "this is the first time I 've ever told anybody."

The presentation will include vision stories of Joan of Arc, John Wesley, King Hussein of Jordan, Presidents Harry Truman and Abraham Lincoln. John will also show excerpts of vision experiences from popular movies including The Messenger (Joan of Arc), The House of Spirits, Always, Field of Dreams, What Dreams may Come, and My Name Is Bill W (the story of the remarkable vision that led to the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous).

John Sumwalt is pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee and the author of seven books for CSS Publishing Company including the acclaimed Lectionary Stories series. He is known as a Master Storyteller and Humorist. John grew up on a dairy farm near Richland Center Wisconsin. His country stories are favorites on the farm and in the city.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The second volume in the vision series, Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences, is available from CSS Publishing Company. For more information about the book visit the CSS website at http://www.csspub.com. You can order any of our books on the CSS website (see the complete list below); they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.) Click on any title for more information.

Books by John and Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B


**************


StoryShare, February 22, 2004, issue.

Copyright 2004 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.