Glorious
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Glorious" by Craig Kelly
"All This Over a Coin?" by David O. Bales
* * * * * * * *
Glorious
by Craig Kelly
Exodus 33:12-23
Man, I loved Uncle Edward.
It was always a blast coming to visit his estate in the summer. I would spend hours in his study, looking at all the framed pictures of my uncle that adorned the richly stained oak walls. Each one featured my uncle, and each one had him posing with a different person, each one famous: Eisenhower, Churchill, Kennedy, Gandhi, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, Walter Cronkite... the list just went on. Many of them were signed, each one with a small note:
"To Edward, all the best…"
"To my dear friend Edward..."
"Fondest regards..."
"Best wishes..."
My uncle's life was touched by many of the most influential, powerful men and women of their time, and I'm sure he touched their lives too. He was one of the last great adventurers.
My favorite picture in the study was always the one on his desk. In it he was by himself, standing at the peak of Mount Everest, his beaming, smiling face showing no sign of weariness. He had also seen the peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount McKinley on some of his other adventures. He had seen some of the world's great sights: the pyramids of Giza, the majestic Himalayas, the lush Amazon rainforest, even the North Pole. He had literally been on top of the world.
I used to love sitting with him on those summer nights, listening to him tell of one adventure after another, describing various world leaders and their little quirks or the wonder of some amazing sight he had seen. It was as if he were a master artist, using his words as the paints and my imagination as the canvas. I hung on every word he said.
I remember how he had once told me that Everest was his crowning achievement but that was before he became a Christian. After that, his life changed. Oh, he still traveled and he still had amazing adventures, but they served a greater purpose than simply to indulge his curiosity. He spent months serving with Mother Teresa on the streets of Calcutta, drilling water wells in central Africa, and spreading the gospel to remote tribes in the Amazon. After that, it was knowing Christ, he said, that was his crowning achievement.
Now, his remaining days were spent in his bed, the years finally catching up with him. Naturally for Uncle Edward, he had to be pushing a hundred before time could catch up with him. He had too much energy and vigor to settle for anything less. I had returned once again to his estate to make sure we could spend his few remaining days together. It was just like old times. He would continue to tell me stories of his life, his memory as sharp as when I was a boy. I would read the scriptures to him, his eyes being too weak to see the words for himself anymore, along with some of his other favorite books, works of H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, and Robert Louis Stevenson. He lived for adventure, even in his deathbed.
As I sat watching him sleep, I shook my head in amazement. Here was a man who had truly seen it all. He had seen enough wonders, had enough adventures in his life to fill a dozen lifetimes, at least. Here was a life lived to its absolute fullest, and I was privileged to be a part of it.
Is there anything left in this world that would amaze this man anymore?
Probably not.
He truly was one of my heroes. I could only hope to leave half as big an impression on the world as this man had.
After several days of lengthy conversations interrupted by longer and longer naps, he finally saw the dawn of his last day on earth. His window faced the eastern sky so he was able to take it all in -- the colors, the light, all of it.
"I have seen so many sunrises, my boy," he said weakly, "and they always amaze me. God has created so many wonders in this world but none as amazing as the sunrise."
I nodded, a tear running down my face. I knew it would not be long. As the sun continued its ascent, Uncle Edward's life was ebbing more and more. His breathing became softer and softer, quieter and quieter until...
Just as I was about to check his pulse, his eyes popped open wide and I saw an expression in them that I had not seen in a long time, even when he would watch the sunrise.
It was wonder.
Awestruck, wide-eyed wonder.
He slowly drew in a breath, as in he suddenly had to remember to breathe again.
"It's... it's... beautiful, my boy... it's... glorious... Oh..."
I waited. What could have amazed this man who'd seen everything? Finally, his mouth grinning from ear to ear, his lungs released their air as he uttered his final word:
"Wow...."
As I closed his eyes, I remembered that last look I saw in them, and I knew his greatest adventure was just beginning. I looked out the window at the blazing sun shining in a cloudless, deep blue sky, perhaps the bluest sky I'd ever seen in my life.
The best is yet to come.
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio.
All This Over a Coin?
by David O. Bales
Matthew 22:15-22
At the eerie sound of the Roman army's trumpets the four Judeans leaped to their positions on Jerusalem's ramparts. They glanced at one another shamefully for not being alert. They were starved and so tired they wanted to sleep into death.
A few months ago three of them were farmers from villages far to the west of Jerusalem; but now Rome had reconquered all outlying cities and towns. Now its legions held the final strangle-hold on Jerusalem. For the rebellious Jews Jerusalem held the last hope for a miracle.
No matter their former work, because these four men were inside Jerusalem's gates, they became soldiers. The aged Shimei was the only Jerusalemite. He said, "Think anybody will bring us food this morning?"
"Depends on what you call 'food.' " The younger Matya said. "Those cooked weeds they brought last night tasted like what my mother stuffs down us when we haven't visited the latrine lately."
"Here," one of the others said. "Look what was in the crumbs at the bottom of my food sack."
The other three saw the silver of a Roman denarius.
"A lot that can buy us today," Matya said. "Maybe a goat's hoof -- uncooked. But don't let the priests see a coin with Caesar on it."
Shimei peeked over Jerusalem's walls and peered at the Romans drawn up for battle beyond an arrow's shot away. Roman battering rams and siege towers had nearly smashed through another of Jerusalem's thinning defenses. Their catapults tossed in boulders that bounced and leveled everything in their path. Judeans attempting escape were crucified within sight of the city -- Roman vigilance proving stronger than Judean desperation.
"Strange," mused Shimei as he stared out from his native Jerusalem, "that we'd fight the Romans and still employ their coins. I used to work to put those coins in my belt."
"Didn't we all?" Matya said.
After a while the three farmers relaxed behind a bulwark. They let old Shimei watch the Romans and, as he'd done for days, talk about his earlier life in Jerusalem. They appreciated his talking. "When you're young and strong you don't always think about what you're doing," He said. "Nearly forty years ago and I remember how, at the time, I was just swept along. Not that I had a lot of choice. I did what I was told -- and what I was paid for.
"How else was a landless peasant to survive? You also would have rejoiced to be attached to a wealthy family. Pinchas and his kin employed me for nearly four years. They weren't good to me, but they paid me regularly and I would have agreed to be their slave.
"I think I understand them better now. Not all rich people grow in the same garden. People are different, even rich people. Nor should you assume that every servant would spit in your wine. I was loyal to Pinchas and any with his blood in their veins. I was just working for the wrong side."
The four heard activity to their right. They strained to see the source of the excitement but determined it was only the rumble of preparation. Not yet the sound of the final attack.
"But, most rich Judeans sided with other rich Judeans and I was a laborer for them. They wanted to stay rich so they allied with the Romans and were alarmed when anybody upset their delicate balance as Judeans supporting Rome."
Shimei turned away from the massed Romans and looked at his three companions. No matter how tired or hungry they were, any diversion was preferable to their facing the enemy in battle.
"There was a northerner, Jesus. He promised a coming kingdom... definitely not Rome's kingdom. He prattled about eternity as though he'd just come away from a conversation with God. The rabble loved him. The priests and my employer feared him. So I was hired in the plot to trap him with a coin.
"I was with the group of pious Pharisees and the rich supporters of Rome, the Herodians. They flattered Jesus as a truthful teacher, then stabbed with a question bound to destroy him. 'Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?'
"The fellow saw right through them, 'Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.' "
Shimei jumped when he spied the fast Roman advance. "I think this is probably what we've been waiting for." The other three stood up and gaped despairingly over the wall. Shimei, for no reason except, perhaps, to maintain sanity, continued, "The teacher said, 'Whose head is this, and whose title?' The answer was obvious: The emperor's. Then he said, 'Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's.' That ended the discussion, but within a few days they found a way to kill him anyway. Now his followers say he's alive again and he's the Lord. They claim miracles by him. I'd like to see a miracle here now."
The four watched the Romans charging forward with ladders. Arrows flew toward the top of Jerusalem's walls. Soon the slingers would be hitting defenders with fist-sized stones. Other Judeans were climbing up the walls and preparing for the final defense. Shimei spoke quietly, "I sure wish those leaders had figured out before now what belongs to God and what belongs to Caesar."
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 16, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Glorious" by Craig Kelly
"All This Over a Coin?" by David O. Bales
* * * * * * * *
Glorious
by Craig Kelly
Exodus 33:12-23
Man, I loved Uncle Edward.
It was always a blast coming to visit his estate in the summer. I would spend hours in his study, looking at all the framed pictures of my uncle that adorned the richly stained oak walls. Each one featured my uncle, and each one had him posing with a different person, each one famous: Eisenhower, Churchill, Kennedy, Gandhi, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, Walter Cronkite... the list just went on. Many of them were signed, each one with a small note:
"To Edward, all the best…"
"To my dear friend Edward..."
"Fondest regards..."
"Best wishes..."
My uncle's life was touched by many of the most influential, powerful men and women of their time, and I'm sure he touched their lives too. He was one of the last great adventurers.
My favorite picture in the study was always the one on his desk. In it he was by himself, standing at the peak of Mount Everest, his beaming, smiling face showing no sign of weariness. He had also seen the peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount McKinley on some of his other adventures. He had seen some of the world's great sights: the pyramids of Giza, the majestic Himalayas, the lush Amazon rainforest, even the North Pole. He had literally been on top of the world.
I used to love sitting with him on those summer nights, listening to him tell of one adventure after another, describing various world leaders and their little quirks or the wonder of some amazing sight he had seen. It was as if he were a master artist, using his words as the paints and my imagination as the canvas. I hung on every word he said.
I remember how he had once told me that Everest was his crowning achievement but that was before he became a Christian. After that, his life changed. Oh, he still traveled and he still had amazing adventures, but they served a greater purpose than simply to indulge his curiosity. He spent months serving with Mother Teresa on the streets of Calcutta, drilling water wells in central Africa, and spreading the gospel to remote tribes in the Amazon. After that, it was knowing Christ, he said, that was his crowning achievement.
Now, his remaining days were spent in his bed, the years finally catching up with him. Naturally for Uncle Edward, he had to be pushing a hundred before time could catch up with him. He had too much energy and vigor to settle for anything less. I had returned once again to his estate to make sure we could spend his few remaining days together. It was just like old times. He would continue to tell me stories of his life, his memory as sharp as when I was a boy. I would read the scriptures to him, his eyes being too weak to see the words for himself anymore, along with some of his other favorite books, works of H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, and Robert Louis Stevenson. He lived for adventure, even in his deathbed.
As I sat watching him sleep, I shook my head in amazement. Here was a man who had truly seen it all. He had seen enough wonders, had enough adventures in his life to fill a dozen lifetimes, at least. Here was a life lived to its absolute fullest, and I was privileged to be a part of it.
Is there anything left in this world that would amaze this man anymore?
Probably not.
He truly was one of my heroes. I could only hope to leave half as big an impression on the world as this man had.
After several days of lengthy conversations interrupted by longer and longer naps, he finally saw the dawn of his last day on earth. His window faced the eastern sky so he was able to take it all in -- the colors, the light, all of it.
"I have seen so many sunrises, my boy," he said weakly, "and they always amaze me. God has created so many wonders in this world but none as amazing as the sunrise."
I nodded, a tear running down my face. I knew it would not be long. As the sun continued its ascent, Uncle Edward's life was ebbing more and more. His breathing became softer and softer, quieter and quieter until...
Just as I was about to check his pulse, his eyes popped open wide and I saw an expression in them that I had not seen in a long time, even when he would watch the sunrise.
It was wonder.
Awestruck, wide-eyed wonder.
He slowly drew in a breath, as in he suddenly had to remember to breathe again.
"It's... it's... beautiful, my boy... it's... glorious... Oh..."
I waited. What could have amazed this man who'd seen everything? Finally, his mouth grinning from ear to ear, his lungs released their air as he uttered his final word:
"Wow...."
As I closed his eyes, I remembered that last look I saw in them, and I knew his greatest adventure was just beginning. I looked out the window at the blazing sun shining in a cloudless, deep blue sky, perhaps the bluest sky I'd ever seen in my life.
The best is yet to come.
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio.
All This Over a Coin?
by David O. Bales
Matthew 22:15-22
At the eerie sound of the Roman army's trumpets the four Judeans leaped to their positions on Jerusalem's ramparts. They glanced at one another shamefully for not being alert. They were starved and so tired they wanted to sleep into death.
A few months ago three of them were farmers from villages far to the west of Jerusalem; but now Rome had reconquered all outlying cities and towns. Now its legions held the final strangle-hold on Jerusalem. For the rebellious Jews Jerusalem held the last hope for a miracle.
No matter their former work, because these four men were inside Jerusalem's gates, they became soldiers. The aged Shimei was the only Jerusalemite. He said, "Think anybody will bring us food this morning?"
"Depends on what you call 'food.' " The younger Matya said. "Those cooked weeds they brought last night tasted like what my mother stuffs down us when we haven't visited the latrine lately."
"Here," one of the others said. "Look what was in the crumbs at the bottom of my food sack."
The other three saw the silver of a Roman denarius.
"A lot that can buy us today," Matya said. "Maybe a goat's hoof -- uncooked. But don't let the priests see a coin with Caesar on it."
Shimei peeked over Jerusalem's walls and peered at the Romans drawn up for battle beyond an arrow's shot away. Roman battering rams and siege towers had nearly smashed through another of Jerusalem's thinning defenses. Their catapults tossed in boulders that bounced and leveled everything in their path. Judeans attempting escape were crucified within sight of the city -- Roman vigilance proving stronger than Judean desperation.
"Strange," mused Shimei as he stared out from his native Jerusalem, "that we'd fight the Romans and still employ their coins. I used to work to put those coins in my belt."
"Didn't we all?" Matya said.
After a while the three farmers relaxed behind a bulwark. They let old Shimei watch the Romans and, as he'd done for days, talk about his earlier life in Jerusalem. They appreciated his talking. "When you're young and strong you don't always think about what you're doing," He said. "Nearly forty years ago and I remember how, at the time, I was just swept along. Not that I had a lot of choice. I did what I was told -- and what I was paid for.
"How else was a landless peasant to survive? You also would have rejoiced to be attached to a wealthy family. Pinchas and his kin employed me for nearly four years. They weren't good to me, but they paid me regularly and I would have agreed to be their slave.
"I think I understand them better now. Not all rich people grow in the same garden. People are different, even rich people. Nor should you assume that every servant would spit in your wine. I was loyal to Pinchas and any with his blood in their veins. I was just working for the wrong side."
The four heard activity to their right. They strained to see the source of the excitement but determined it was only the rumble of preparation. Not yet the sound of the final attack.
"But, most rich Judeans sided with other rich Judeans and I was a laborer for them. They wanted to stay rich so they allied with the Romans and were alarmed when anybody upset their delicate balance as Judeans supporting Rome."
Shimei turned away from the massed Romans and looked at his three companions. No matter how tired or hungry they were, any diversion was preferable to their facing the enemy in battle.
"There was a northerner, Jesus. He promised a coming kingdom... definitely not Rome's kingdom. He prattled about eternity as though he'd just come away from a conversation with God. The rabble loved him. The priests and my employer feared him. So I was hired in the plot to trap him with a coin.
"I was with the group of pious Pharisees and the rich supporters of Rome, the Herodians. They flattered Jesus as a truthful teacher, then stabbed with a question bound to destroy him. 'Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?'
"The fellow saw right through them, 'Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.' "
Shimei jumped when he spied the fast Roman advance. "I think this is probably what we've been waiting for." The other three stood up and gaped despairingly over the wall. Shimei, for no reason except, perhaps, to maintain sanity, continued, "The teacher said, 'Whose head is this, and whose title?' The answer was obvious: The emperor's. Then he said, 'Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's.' That ended the discussion, but within a few days they found a way to kill him anyway. Now his followers say he's alive again and he's the Lord. They claim miracles by him. I'd like to see a miracle here now."
The four watched the Romans charging forward with ladders. Arrows flew toward the top of Jerusalem's walls. Soon the slingers would be hitting defenders with fist-sized stones. Other Judeans were climbing up the walls and preparing for the final defense. Shimei spoke quietly, "I sure wish those leaders had figured out before now what belongs to God and what belongs to Caesar."
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 16, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
