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Contents
"The Girl in 410" by Keith Hewitt
"The Yoke Is on Me" by Larry Winebrenner
"Gertrude's Question" by Larry Winebrenner


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The Girl in 410
by Keith Hewitt
Romans 7:15-25a

Dave looked up at the sound of their door opening, saw his roommate entering with a laundry basket and a bemused expression. He watched curiously as Zack pushed the door closed with a backward kick, walked all of two or three steps into the living/dining/media room, dropped the basket on the floor in front of the couch, and then dropped himself onto the couch. "Still trying to figure out the ending of The Sopranos?" Dave asked after a short silence.

Zack shook his head. "I've moved on. I'm pretty sure they didn't know what to do, so they just went to black and hoped people would think it was artistic. I'm just sorry you ever made me watch the box set." He looked at Dave and raised his eyebrows slightly. "You know that girl in 410?"

Dave closed his laptop and pushed himself back from the desk, swiveled to face Zack. "The one with the reddish hair and the --"

Zack nodded. "That one. I've got her name and phone number."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. She gave them to me."

Dave shook his head. "I was going to say nice detective work -- except, you know... it wasn't. Not when she just gives it to you."

"But I've got them. After a semester."

"More like a semester and a half. Been a long dry spell, Zacky. When are you going to call her? Don't want her to lose interest."

"I don't know..."

"You haven't been on a date since -- when was the last time you went on a date?"

Dave asked. "There was that girl from Econ -- what did you take her to?"

Zack grimaced. "The Last Airbender."

"So you take them to movies like that and then you wonder why you never have a second date? Seriously. What's the plan with the girl in 410? There's going to be a Bonnie and Clyde movie coming out with Hilary Duff as Bonnie Parker."

Zack hesitated, finally said, "I don't think she wants to go to a movie."

"She's probably heard about your taste in movies. I'd check the internet -- there may be a website about you." When Zack didn't take the bait, Dave cocked his head a little and added, "Okay, what do you mean? I don't have time for code breaking. I'm in the middle of a game."

Zack picked up a sock from the basket, glanced at it, dropped it. "I mean I don't think she's interested in, you know -- going out," he answered hesitantly. "I think she wants to, you know, skip the date part."

Dave looked at his roommate closely. "What makes you think that, other than your own fevered imagination?"

Zack reached into the basket again, pulled out a small, square, foil package, held it up for Dave to see. "She wrote her name and number on this."

Dave's mouth formed a soundless "Oh." After a moment or two, he added, "You know, once again I'd say nice work reading her, but -- Jeez, she's not exactly subtle, is she?"

Zack smiled crookedly. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." He hesitated, slipped the package into his pocket, adding: "So now I'm not sure what to do."

Dave stared at him. "You're not sure?"

Zack shrugged. "That's what I said."

"Did you miss the 'Our Changing Bodies' movie in middle school? Could your parents not afford HBO?" Dave turned back toward the desk, opened his laptop. "There's some excellent sites on the web, if you're really not sure." He paused, fingers on the keyboard, looking back over his shoulder at Zack, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"That is not what I meant!" he snapped. "I know exactly what to do, idiot. I'm just not sure what I want to do."

Dave swiveled back to face him, reached out a hand. "Give me your wallet."

"What?"

Dave gestured insistently with his hand. "Give me your wallet."

Zack reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and started to offer it to Dave -- stopped. "Why?"

"Because I need to find your guy card and rip it up."

Zack rolled his eyes and stuffed the wallet back into its pocket. "You're not helping."

"I wasn't trying to. But seriously, you get a free pass -- an open invitation -- to hook up with a girl like that and you're wondering what to do?"

"I've got questions."

"And she's got answers -- all the answers you need. And from the looks of things, they're all going to be 'Yes.' "

Zack stirred uncomfortably. "Look, you know I've been going to that Bible study group on Wednesdays."

"Fine. Hook up on Thursday, then."

"Not the point, Dave. Seriously, just listen. We've been doing a lot of reading, and talking, and there's a lot of talk about this -- well, a whole bunch of stuff but this is part of it. There's a part of one of the books where this guy -- Paul, I think -- is talking about having the urge to do things -- things he knows are wrong -- even though he also wants to do what's right."

"And what we're talking about is wrong?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is."

"Even though she wants it? Two consenting adults -- no harm, no foul?"

"I'm pretty sure it's not what God wants us to do."

"Does that make sense? If God didn't want us to hook up with women, why would he make them all soft and warm and curvy?"

"And this is what I don't know, Dave. You're right -- it's natural. It's hardwired into us and everything in me right now is screaming, 'Call! Call!' But then I think about what we read in Bible study, and what we talked about, and I'm not sure. I don't think it's what we're supposed to do. You know, just because a fire looks all bright and warm and inviting doesn't mean we're supposed to stick our hand in the flame."

"It's not your hand we're talking about," Dave pointed out reasonably.

Zack half-smiled again. "Even so. There's things we want to do because that's how we're made, they make us part of the world. But then we're told not to do them, and we should want not to do them because it's the right thing to do."

"Good Lord, you're serious," Dave said in slow disbelief.

"Uh-huh."

Dave closed his laptop again, stood up. "Then I don't know what to tell you. If you're going to let them mess with your head this way, you can drink that Kool Aid by yourself." He waited and when Zack didn't answer shook his head and left the apartment.

Zack sat still in the silence for a long time, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, his face drawn into a puzzled, troubled expression. Some time later, his expression changed, softened, and he straightened up, reached into his pocket for the little package and took it out, turned it over to see the name and number... and reached for the phone.

And when the girl in 410 answered, he smiled...

"So what did you do?" The man asking the question sat across from Zack and sipped at a cup of tea. They were at a small table, one of a dozen scattered around the room, most of them occupied by twos and threes. In the background, music was playing -- the man at the table liked to call it "thinking music," and played it for an hour or so after Bible study to encourage discussion.

"We met for coffee," Zack answered, hands slowly rotating a can of soda on the table in front of him. His expression was thoughtful -- still, perhaps, a bit confused.

"And?" the older man pressed gently.

"And coffee -- just coffee," Zack answered. "I'm not sure where we're going from here."

"So you didn't --?"

Zack shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway."

The older man smiled, took a sip of tea and nodded. "So you decided you were better than that?"

"No -- but Jesus is, and I figured I could try to live up to that, at least this once."

"That's all anyone can do. Jesus didn't come for the perfect people, Zack. He came for the rest of us. The way I figure it, walking with Jesus is like riding a bike -- at first it's hard and you're going to fall off a lot. But your parents didn't turn away from you when you fell off your bike, and Jesus isn't going to turn away from us when we fall off the path. Eventually, it gets a little easier -- but it's always going to be a bit of a balancing act, you know?" The man took another sip and added thoughtfully, "I guess you could say the trick is to keep riding -- even when you know you're going to fall."

Zack nodded -- and wondered if the girl in 410 was free on Wednesday nights...

Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.


The Yoke Is on Me
by Larry Winebrenner
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
-- Matthew 11:30

Henry, well, his buddies called him Hank, but Grandpa called him Henry, he was named for his grandpa, Henry had just achieved Eagle Scout rank.

Grandpa had not attended the award ceremony. In his Boy Scout uniform, with sash exhibiting merit badge patches and the coveted Eagle Scout medal pinned to his shirt, Hank, uh, that is, Henry visited Grandpa.

Grandpa was in his garage/workshop. There was no automobile in the garage. The old '56 Packard had its own shelter built many years ago when Grandpa could still build shelters. It was his pride and joy, over fifty years old and just as clean and shiny as the day it rolled off the showroom floor. As might be expected, it only left the shelter once a year to lead the town's Independence Day Parade.

It had its own shelter but the garage was filled with woodworking tools. A lathe commanded center space. A planer graced one wall. A band-saw and router claimed space on each side of the door leading into the kitchen.

The floor was as clean as the day the machines were installed. Not even a speck of dust dared settle on that floor. Hank, uh, Henry wondered if he should take off his shoes to enter this ER clean sanctorum. Every time he visited Grandpa he felt this way.

He stood in the door and said, "Sorry you couldn't make it, Grandpa."

The elder Henry looked up from the project book he was reading. He was always reading about projects but the only time those machines were turned on was when they were oiled and checked to see if they still worked.

"Don't just stand there, come let me look at you."

Grandpa's eyes were bad so he moved close to the old man and stood closely while his grandfather fingered each patch and peered at it. Once before when Grandpa did this, Henry offered to take the sash off. Grandpa's feelings were hurt. So he stood patiently.

As Grandpa examined each patch, Henry noticed a little gold emblem pinned on Grandpa's shirt. Grandpa never wore jewelry. Or any of the medals he received in World War II -- no not that one -- the Korean War. Not even riding the Packard in the Independence Day parade.

He wore his old uniform. A bit baggy because Grandpa had grown so thin while his buddies -- the few who were left -- had fleshed out making it hard to get into their uniforms. Uniform, yes. Medals, no.

When asked why he didn't wear them he said, "They weren't given to me for show."

Grandma said, "He doesn't want to embarrass his friends who have very few medals."

So now, when grandpa had finished examining one merit badge patch and hadn't moved to another, Henry asked, "Grandpa, what's that gold thing on your shirt?"

Grandpa felt it with forefinger and thumb. His arthritis made the maneuver difficult, but he didn't seem to notice.

"This is a religious symbol," Hank.

Startled, Henry blurted out, "My name's Henry!" Grandpa chuckled.

"But your pals call you Hank. Can't we be pals?"

Henry, uh, Hank was a bit confused and said nothing.

Grandpa continued with his explanation.

"Some people wear crosses and that's all right. But for me I found this better. It's a yoke. When I was a boy, I saw a man come into town in a wagon pulled by what I thought were two cows. I said, 'Mister, why is your wagon pulled by cows?'

"He laughed at me and said, 'Them ain't cows. Them's oxen. They be made for pulling stuff.'

" 'Why ain't they wearin' horse collars, then?' I asked.

" 'Boy, you sure be fulla questions. Them ain't horses, is they? So why'd 'em wear horse collars? Them wears yokes.'

" 'Twas the first time I heard of yokes."

Hank squirmed a bit. Here came another one of Grandpa's stories. And Hank thought he'd heard them all.

"Then, when I was studying the Bible, Jeremiah wore a yoke to make a point. But it really hit me one time in Korea during the war."

Hank quit squirming. Grandpa never talked about the war. None of his stories were war stories.

The old man continued.

"Our platoon was surrounded by the enemy. They didn't know it. We knew it. We knew it was just a matter of time before we were discovered and destroyed or captured. I had one of those shirt pocket New Testaments. I started reading it."

Shoot, thought Hank. I thought he was going to tell a war story. What's reading the Bible have to do with war?

Hank was soon to find out.

"I read about where Jesus scolded the supposedly religious folk. They were like kids. Some pouted because they played the flute and no one danced. Y' ever play th' flute, Henry?"

Uh oh, thought Hank, uh Henry. Grandpa's forgotten his war story and begun thinking about flute playing.

"No, Grandpa," he said. "Uh, what's flute playing got to do with that hill in Korea?"

Grandpa chuckled.

"Nothin'," he admitted. "M' mind just got off track. Y' see, some of those religious guys were like the pouting kids who played their flute and no one danced. Others like the kids that pretended they were having a funeral and their buddies wouldn't cry. Did I ever tell you the joke about the kids pretending to have a funeral?"

"Only about a dozen times," sputtered Hank/Henry, "but never this story about Korea!"

Grandpa looked like he was deciding to be hurt or amused.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe I let my mind wander because the war was so painful for me. But it taught me to wear this pin."

"You don't hafta tell me if you don't want to."

"No, Hank," said Grandpa. "You need to hear this. You see, we were all sitting around, feeling sorry for ourselves. Me, too. It was just a matter of time before we were found. Then it was fight and die or surrender. I think most of us felt like doing one for a minute, then the other for a minute. You don't know what it's like to be trapped like fish in a barrel."

"So you read your Bible," said Hank, trying to understand.

Grandpa didn't seem to hear.

"I recognized the scene described by Jesus. Maybe it wasn't the flute or funeral, but sometimes we were torn whether to play football or go swimming. So we did nothing."

"I suddenly realized that's where we were. And doing nothing. There's a sentence that says, 'Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.' I figured that since we were dead ducks we should do something. I told our platoon leader what I thought."

" 'We try anything, we'll be discovered,' he said. 'Just sit tight. Maybe something will break.' "

"I didn't argue. I just went back to my position. Then I began sliding along on my belly in a drainage ditch. I reached a gully that led to a stream. I left my rifle and helmet and slid underwater. I surfaced only for a breath under a bank until I was beyond the action area. Every time I surfaced, the words, 'Take my yoke' came to mind. Jesus had saved the world. I was trying to save a few buddies."

Hank realized he wasn't breathing. He was underwater with Grandpa.

"One time when I surfaced, I heard a whisper in English. 'Ya gotta light?' I was scared and wondered if I should answer, 'They're kinda wet.' But another voice said, 'Y' fool. Y' wanna give away our position?' "

" 'Don't shoot,' I murmured. I slowly stood up with my hands held high. It was only minutes before our planes strafed the area letting our entire platoon get away."

"And you wear that gold yoke to remind you of that battle," observed Hank.

"No, Hank," said Grandpa. "I wear it to remind me that when the going gets tough, my part of the load is light compared to the part Jesus is carrying. And Jesus will get us through."

From that day forward, Hank wore his merit badge sash and pinned on it clearly displayed was a gold yoke.


Gertrude's Question
by Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 45

Gertrude seemed about ready to attack Cynthia. She was maybe the oldest member left in the congregation, though she would not readily admit it.

The Reverend Dr. Cynthia Smith was serving her first church. Everything seemed to be going rather well. That is until she read the New Testament lectionary passage. This Sunday she used the Old Testament text for her sermon.

When she saw Gertrude's face, she thought, Uh oh. I must have put my foot in it by something I said in the sermon.

"Where did Jesus come off with that love him more than my daughter? If I have to quit loving my daughter, just take me off the church rolls," spouted Gertrude breathlessly.

Cynthia tried to swallow but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart beat furiously. She wanted to run. But where? She smiled and hugged Gertrude.

"Good question," she croaked. Croaked. Not soothed, like a mother's voice. She cleared her throat. "Let's look at the passage."

"You don't have an answer, do you?" demanded Gertrude.

Cynthia didn't know how to respond, yet heard herself saying, "Gertrude, I feel your anguish. Could we do this tomorrow?" She tried to lighten the mood. "Over a cup of that road tar you claim is coffee?"

Cynthia had not gotten to Gertrude's house in her visitation schedule. The secretary advised, "Don't make her your first visit. She'll think you're checking out that road tar she calls coffee."

So Cynthia had waited a couple of weeks as she got settled in and visited church officers. It was important to get to know them.

"You don't drink 'tar'," Gertrude spit the word out like a spoiled plum. "But I'll see how strong I can make a cup of tea for you."

Wrong approach, thought Cynthia -- until she caught the twinkle in Gertrude's eye.

Like a miracle, in her devotions that evening, Cynthia read Psalm 45. In verse 10 she read, "Hear, O daughter, consider and incline your ear; forget your people and your father's house...."

Forget your people? Forget your father's house?

She read on. She seemed to feel an answer emerging.

At Gertrude's house mid-morning next day she was met by a smiling face.

Gertrude said, "You'll have to produce your own tar. I'm just giving you hot water and a tea bag."

"That was a wicked slip of the tongue," admitted Cynthia.

"Forget it," Gertrude laughed. "I get that all the time." She added good-naturedly, "You're not going to sidetrack the answer you promised to give me today."

Cynthia hugged the elderly woman and murmured, "I wouldn't think of it. I want to answer your question. What we need in our church is more hard questions asked."

Gertrude held her at arm's length. She gazed into Cynthia's eyes as if searching for something. She finally broke off the gaze. Cynthia knew it had lasted but a few seconds. She felt like it had been closer to an hour.

"Let's have some tea and the short bread I fixed for us," said Gertrude. "Then we'll talk scripture."

Cynthia overcame the temptation to brew her tea black. She liked it mild. She left the teabag in until the color was just right. To her surprise Gertrude picked up the used tea bag and placed it into her own cup with some hot water. She saw Cynthia watching her.

"I don't like the taste of coffee," she confessed. "But I love the smell. So I just let it perk as long as possible. I hate to waste things." She nodded at the tea bag in her cup. "I put the coffee in quart jars and take it to the church."

She removed the tea bag from her cup. She added three heaping teaspoons of sugar into the tea and stirred as she talked.

"Don't ever tell me what they do with my coffee. They well might use it to repair leaks in the roof."

Both women laughed at that so Cynthia felt it was time to discuss the passage that offended Gertrude. Gertrude beat her to the punch.

"Before you start, Cindy, I want you to know that I'm aware of how the disciples quizzed Jesus about what they might receive for what they had given up to follow him."

"That's good, Gertie. But that didn't even enter into my thinking."

Gertrude stared at her pastor. This was no gaze. On the other hand it was not a glare.

"Okay, Cynthia. Tell me what you came up with. This isn't the first time I've raised the question. But it's the first time anyone's had the guts to call me Gertie." Before Cynthia could respond, Gertrude added, "Tit for tat."

Cynthia laughed. She liked this old gal. Would the explanation satisfy her. She began her response.

"Gertrude, you said I was the first person to have enough guts to call you Gertie. Well, I've read and puzzled over that passage most of my life but I've never demanded an interpretation to it. You're the first person to make that demand."

Gertrude barely smiled but said nothing. Cynthia continued.

"Last night I determined to complete my devotions. Then I was going to dig into my commentaries and all the computer resources I know. I would answer that question of yours."

"There's no answer," Gertrude murmured.

"Maybe not," admitted Cynthia. "Maybe each person has to find her own answer."

"Or his," put in Gertrude.

Cynthia stopped talking and looked at Gertrude. This woman was more astute than people gave her credit for.

"Yes," Cynthia finally said. "Or his. Each person has to find his or her own answer to the question this scripture raises. I can only tell you my answer."

"That's good enough for me," said Gertrude. "Let's hear it."

"Last night, as I was reading the psalm in my devotions," Cynthia began, "I was stopped by a verse that began, 'Hear, O daughter, consider and incline your ear; forget your people and your father's house.' "

"Psalm?"

"Yes. Psalm 45. But why was this woman, for that is who is addressed, supposed to forget family and father? I admit, all the recognition, glory, and riches that came from leaving father were wonderful. But not worth the desertion, as I saw it. But at the very end, the psalm said of the king, 'Instead of ancestors, you will have sons.' And then I saw, without giving up her position as daughter, the kingdom would disappear.

"I know you may not understand this as I have, but leaving father and family, she was preserving their life, their own existence. She wasn't leaving them. She was saving them."

A light flashed in Gertrude's eyes.

"You're saying exactly what Jesus said in another context, 'You have to give your life in order to have it.' "

"Yes."

"He's not talking about hating any more than the psalmist is talking about rejecting."

"Yes."

Gertrude stopped at that last "Yes."

"You didn't give me the answer," she declared. "You made me work it out for myself."

"Why not?" asked Cynthia. "You're as smart woman."

"We both are," said Gertrude. "Now if you'll just eat some of this short bread...."

Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.


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StoryShare, July 3, 2011, issue.

Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.

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