Good Shepherds
Stories
Object:
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Door to Abundant Life"
Shining Moments: "Holy Hands" by David Michael Smith
Sermon Starters: "Good Shepherds" by John Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
Who have been the good shepherds in your life? Have the there been some bad shepherds along the way? It makes a difference who we choose to follow. In some cases, as Hank Aaron shares in one of our sermon starters this week, it makes all the difference in the world. He tells how Jackie Robinson was a role model who made it possible for him to become the home run hitter and person he became. David Michael Smith recounts a powerful personal story of God's presence in a time of need in Shining Moments.
A Story to Live By
The Door to Abundant Life
"Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and an bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep."
John 10:1-2
Several years ago a local woman awoke in the middle of the night to desperate cries of "Help! Help!" Thinking that her husband was in distress, she shook him violently. Then, realizing that he was asleep, she wondered if she might be in the midst of a frantic dream.
The cries persisted. She got out of bed, flipped on the light, and headed into the living room where the shouting intensified. "Where are you?" she called out. "In the fireplace" was the reply. There, dangling in the fireplace flue, was a burglar stuck upside down. Police and firefighters eventually freed the would-be thief, but only after dismembering some brickwork and ripping out the mantle.
The best part of the story may be what the homeowner did while waiting for help. She turned on the living room lights and sat down to record the sight with her video camera. Who knows what the two discussed at 2 a.m.? Perhaps she gave him a stern reading of John 10.
(Peter W. Marty, Christian Century, April 17, 1996, p. 427)
Shining Moments
Holy Hands
by David Michael Smith
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake.
Psalm 23:1-3
Five years shy of a century, Oscar Bailey felt old. Ironically, you would think that would be natural, but then again, you'd have to personally know Oscar. Old age and the man never meshed. It was as if he had discovered the fountain of youth, if not physically, then mentally, and would live forever.
Each summer he would plant a picturesque, weedless garden, comparable to the ones you'd see in the pages of Southern Living, each row perfectly straight, each cultivated plant colorful and leafy. He'd use a plumb line to ensure accuracy, and plowed with a thirty-year-old rototiller daily.
Well into his nineties you'd find him motoring all over the county in his Chevy, sharpening chainsaw blades, stacking wood, cleaning his chimney, visiting the barber, and mowing his own grass, often opting to use the push mower over the rider. He behaved like a man half his age, even younger, and always lived life to its fullest. But then, seemingly all at once, old age breathlessly caught him on the racetrack of life. With achy limbs and a bad back, plus a hazardous heart condition, he felt exhausted, depressed.
The plummet began two years prior when his beloved wife Mildred, six years younger than her partner of 70 years, fell ill. On a cold winter's day in January, during a routine stop at the convenience store for a jug of milk, she collapsed without warning in the parking lot. She spent weeks in the hospital recuperating, but never fully recovered. Doctors could not pinpoint the root cause for the fall, but it was speculated she had suffered a minor stroke. At the same time, the stubborn symptoms of Alzheimer's began to manifest, along with other physical and mental infirmities. Mildred was sick, and she'd never be the way she was before.
For decades the couple had lived happy, blessed lives, partly because they rose early, worked hard, ate well, avoided television, embraced honesty, defended America, made no enemies, and slept well. They were children of European immigrants, and the types of people who loved their country during both the rich and frail times.
Oscar had been a forester, now long retired, and could tell you every variety of plant and tree in the woods. He once hunted and fished alone from an old wooden rowboat, but it had been years since he last cast his line. He made his own wine from blackberries, blueberries, and purple grapes, and smoked a pipe for many years in the comforts of his old tin-roofed work shed.
For many years Mildred cooked every meal from scratch, often using the vegetables and fruits grown from their annual garden. She canned jams and relishes and tomatoes. Every baked cake was homemade, and the icing buttery rich in flavor.
The house was always spotless, the floors waxed and shiny. She was an avid duster, and swept the kitchen and porch floors at least three times a day, sometimes more. But those days were behind the elderly couple, now distant memories.
The same woman who once lived the life of Good Housekeeping's centerfold now spent most of her hours in bed with the covers pulled to her chin, sleeping in a dark, dreary room, even while the sun shone outside. Oscar woke her up to eat and take medication, but she seemed most comfortable alone and tucked away in solitude of her bedroom.
Oscar, for years the breadwinner, now became the jack and queen of all trades. Chores and duties long held by his wife became his responsibilities by default. He did the laundry, prepared the meals, handled the bills, and washed the dishes. But when you're 95, handling daily chores ardently takes a toll on your body and soul, especially with a woman around who doesn't always recognize you and is unpredictable in her behavior.
The couple received help from relatives, chiefly their daughter Phyllis, who visited daily, bringing groceries and words of good cheer. Family members helped with running errands and doing yard work, but Oscar and Mildred were proud people, and came from a generation where help, even from loving family members, was considered a handout. And that was generally unacceptable to a man and woman who initially refused to accept Social Security when they reached retirement age, since to them, that was money they had not worked to earn.
The subject of a retirement home was raised on occasion, but Oscar would have no part of the conversation.
"We have been in this house for years," he proudly proclaimed, "and we'll die in this house, not a 'home'." He meant every word of it, and despite the pitfalls of an elderly couple struggling with their aches and pains and ailments, the family honored their wishes.
Each day was a struggle, and one day things came to a head. Oscar was exhausted from a day of dealing with a woman whom he dearly loved, but was at the same time no longer that same woman he cared so deeply for. Working around the home had worn him out, and his body simply ached to the core. He felt like he'd run a marathon and could barely move. Specifically, his back hurt beyond description, from his tailbone to his neck, every vertebrae throbbing with irritation and fatigue. How could he go on like this? He couldn't.
He collapsed against an ancient sofa in the shadowy living room as night cast a cloak upon the earth outside. Sitting there in a pool of pain and depression, he reached around to rub his lower back, utterly spent of energy. Hot tears welled up in his eyes. He wondered with frustration from where his strength to survive would come, and he moaned a desperate prayer. He simply could not abandon his bride, the only woman he ever loved or could love. Then he felt two hands.
"Mildred, what on earth are you doing, woman?" he asked incredulously, surprised his wife had come out of her room at this late hour.
He turned around to face his wife, but she was not there. To his surprise, no one was there! And yet the presence of two hands upon his remained, invisible, massaging hands, which clasped his with gentleness and love.
Oscar did not move, but not out of fear. He calmly faced the unseen visitor, then stared at his hands, but could see nothing. Sure his eyesight wasn't what it had once been, but with his glasses he could see very well. No one was with him. The room was empty of humankind. It was empty of any visible spirit form. But he felt the hands, the fingers and palms of a man.
The presence massaged his hands in a merciful manner, slowly, and with care. Warm waves rushed through Oscar, radiating across his decrepit body, and he was comforted. For a few moments the supernatural event continued, and the pains of his body and spirit were replaced by a deep, serene peace. It was at that moment he knew he was in the presence of his Lord, the Savior who died for him two millenniums past.
Jesus departed, and soon the aches and pains returned. But Oscar knew he had been visited by God, and from the wordless exchange between earthly and holy hands, he knew that things were going to be all right.
David Michael Smith is the Christian author of one suspenseful novel and a joyous collection of touching Christmas short stories. He has also had several stories published in a variety of books, including the Cup of Comfort series. For more about David and his writing, visit his website: http://www.davidmichaelsmith.net. This story appeared in Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives(CSS Publishing, 2004).
Sermon Starters
Good Shepherds
by John Sumwalt
"The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice."
John 10:2-4
On the farm where I grew up in Richland County, the heart of Wisconsin's dairyland, we milked about forty head of Holstein cows. Every one of them had a name. There was Polly and Molly and Daisy and Beulah and Patsy and Dina and Blackie and Bell. (I used to be able to name all forty and I could tell you the stalls they stood in, just like I used to be able to name every player on the 1957 Milwaukee Braves team and the position they played.) Bell was our lead cow. She had a bell around her neck and always led the other cows home from the pasture. Old Blackie was the cow with the injured teat that wouldn't fit in the milking machine, so we had to milk it by hand. That was my job. Sometimes I would squirt the milk toward one of the cats. They were always delighted and would take turns catching the stream of milk in their mouths. Beulah was our biggest milk producer. It took two pails to hold all of her milk. And Dina, short for dynamite, was our kicker. We never knew when she was going to kick the milking machine off. But we kept her because if you talked to her just right she was the second biggest producer in the barn.
Every cow had a name, and my dad could tell every name of every cow we ever had, complete with a detailed history of each one. A farmer spends a good deal of time with his cows. He gets to know them and comes to have a great affection for them because they are his life as well as his livelihood.
It was like that for shepherds and their sheep in Palestine. A shepherd spent almost all of his time with his sheep. He knew each one by name, and could recognize each sheep on sight (spot on the leg, torn ear, size, limp). The shepherd was responsible for the life of each one. If anything happened to any of his sheep, he had to produce evidence to the community that he had not been derelict in his duty, such as bringing home the skin of the wild animal that had injured or killed it.
Jackie Robinson
Jackie Robinson once said, "A life is not important except in its impact on the lives of others." Jackie Robinson knew the importance of being a good shepherd. Home run slugger Hank Aaron wrote of Jackie Robinson in a New York Times article that was syndicated around the country:
"Jackie Robinson meant everything to me. Before I was a teenager, I was telling my father that I was going to be a ballplayer, and he was telling me, 'Ain't no colored ballplayers.' Then Jackie broke into the Brooklyn Dodgers lineup in 1947, and Daddy never said that again. When the Dodgers played an exhibition game in Mobile, Alabama, on their way north the next spring, Daddy even came to the game with me. A black man in a major-league uniform: that was something my father had to see for himself. Jackie not only showed me and my generation what we could do, he also showed us how to do it. By watching him, we knew that we would have to swallow an awful lot of pride to make it in the big leagues. We knew of the hatred and cruelty Jackie had to endure quietly from the fans, the press, and the anti-integrationist teams such as the Cardinals and the Phillies, and even from his teammates. We also knew that he didn't subject himself to all that for personal benefit. Why would he choose to get spiked and cursed at and spat on for his own account? Jackie was a college football hero, a handsome, intelligent, talented guy with a lot going for him. He didn't need that kind of humiliation. And it certainly wasn't in his nature to suffer it silently. But he had to, not for himself, but for me and all the young black kids like me. When Jackie Robinson loosened his fist and turned the other cheek, he was taking the blows for the love and future of his people." (Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, April 17, 1997)
Jackie Robinson was a good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.
**************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & 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 A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; 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.)
**************
About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
**********************************************
StoryShare, April 17, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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.
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Door to Abundant Life"
Shining Moments: "Holy Hands" by David Michael Smith
Sermon Starters: "Good Shepherds" by John Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
Who have been the good shepherds in your life? Have the there been some bad shepherds along the way? It makes a difference who we choose to follow. In some cases, as Hank Aaron shares in one of our sermon starters this week, it makes all the difference in the world. He tells how Jackie Robinson was a role model who made it possible for him to become the home run hitter and person he became. David Michael Smith recounts a powerful personal story of God's presence in a time of need in Shining Moments.
A Story to Live By
The Door to Abundant Life
"Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and an bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep."
John 10:1-2
Several years ago a local woman awoke in the middle of the night to desperate cries of "Help! Help!" Thinking that her husband was in distress, she shook him violently. Then, realizing that he was asleep, she wondered if she might be in the midst of a frantic dream.
The cries persisted. She got out of bed, flipped on the light, and headed into the living room where the shouting intensified. "Where are you?" she called out. "In the fireplace" was the reply. There, dangling in the fireplace flue, was a burglar stuck upside down. Police and firefighters eventually freed the would-be thief, but only after dismembering some brickwork and ripping out the mantle.
The best part of the story may be what the homeowner did while waiting for help. She turned on the living room lights and sat down to record the sight with her video camera. Who knows what the two discussed at 2 a.m.? Perhaps she gave him a stern reading of John 10.
(Peter W. Marty, Christian Century, April 17, 1996, p. 427)
Shining Moments
Holy Hands
by David Michael Smith
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake.
Psalm 23:1-3
Five years shy of a century, Oscar Bailey felt old. Ironically, you would think that would be natural, but then again, you'd have to personally know Oscar. Old age and the man never meshed. It was as if he had discovered the fountain of youth, if not physically, then mentally, and would live forever.
Each summer he would plant a picturesque, weedless garden, comparable to the ones you'd see in the pages of Southern Living, each row perfectly straight, each cultivated plant colorful and leafy. He'd use a plumb line to ensure accuracy, and plowed with a thirty-year-old rototiller daily.
Well into his nineties you'd find him motoring all over the county in his Chevy, sharpening chainsaw blades, stacking wood, cleaning his chimney, visiting the barber, and mowing his own grass, often opting to use the push mower over the rider. He behaved like a man half his age, even younger, and always lived life to its fullest. But then, seemingly all at once, old age breathlessly caught him on the racetrack of life. With achy limbs and a bad back, plus a hazardous heart condition, he felt exhausted, depressed.
The plummet began two years prior when his beloved wife Mildred, six years younger than her partner of 70 years, fell ill. On a cold winter's day in January, during a routine stop at the convenience store for a jug of milk, she collapsed without warning in the parking lot. She spent weeks in the hospital recuperating, but never fully recovered. Doctors could not pinpoint the root cause for the fall, but it was speculated she had suffered a minor stroke. At the same time, the stubborn symptoms of Alzheimer's began to manifest, along with other physical and mental infirmities. Mildred was sick, and she'd never be the way she was before.
For decades the couple had lived happy, blessed lives, partly because they rose early, worked hard, ate well, avoided television, embraced honesty, defended America, made no enemies, and slept well. They were children of European immigrants, and the types of people who loved their country during both the rich and frail times.
Oscar had been a forester, now long retired, and could tell you every variety of plant and tree in the woods. He once hunted and fished alone from an old wooden rowboat, but it had been years since he last cast his line. He made his own wine from blackberries, blueberries, and purple grapes, and smoked a pipe for many years in the comforts of his old tin-roofed work shed.
For many years Mildred cooked every meal from scratch, often using the vegetables and fruits grown from their annual garden. She canned jams and relishes and tomatoes. Every baked cake was homemade, and the icing buttery rich in flavor.
The house was always spotless, the floors waxed and shiny. She was an avid duster, and swept the kitchen and porch floors at least three times a day, sometimes more. But those days were behind the elderly couple, now distant memories.
The same woman who once lived the life of Good Housekeeping's centerfold now spent most of her hours in bed with the covers pulled to her chin, sleeping in a dark, dreary room, even while the sun shone outside. Oscar woke her up to eat and take medication, but she seemed most comfortable alone and tucked away in solitude of her bedroom.
Oscar, for years the breadwinner, now became the jack and queen of all trades. Chores and duties long held by his wife became his responsibilities by default. He did the laundry, prepared the meals, handled the bills, and washed the dishes. But when you're 95, handling daily chores ardently takes a toll on your body and soul, especially with a woman around who doesn't always recognize you and is unpredictable in her behavior.
The couple received help from relatives, chiefly their daughter Phyllis, who visited daily, bringing groceries and words of good cheer. Family members helped with running errands and doing yard work, but Oscar and Mildred were proud people, and came from a generation where help, even from loving family members, was considered a handout. And that was generally unacceptable to a man and woman who initially refused to accept Social Security when they reached retirement age, since to them, that was money they had not worked to earn.
The subject of a retirement home was raised on occasion, but Oscar would have no part of the conversation.
"We have been in this house for years," he proudly proclaimed, "and we'll die in this house, not a 'home'." He meant every word of it, and despite the pitfalls of an elderly couple struggling with their aches and pains and ailments, the family honored their wishes.
Each day was a struggle, and one day things came to a head. Oscar was exhausted from a day of dealing with a woman whom he dearly loved, but was at the same time no longer that same woman he cared so deeply for. Working around the home had worn him out, and his body simply ached to the core. He felt like he'd run a marathon and could barely move. Specifically, his back hurt beyond description, from his tailbone to his neck, every vertebrae throbbing with irritation and fatigue. How could he go on like this? He couldn't.
He collapsed against an ancient sofa in the shadowy living room as night cast a cloak upon the earth outside. Sitting there in a pool of pain and depression, he reached around to rub his lower back, utterly spent of energy. Hot tears welled up in his eyes. He wondered with frustration from where his strength to survive would come, and he moaned a desperate prayer. He simply could not abandon his bride, the only woman he ever loved or could love. Then he felt two hands.
"Mildred, what on earth are you doing, woman?" he asked incredulously, surprised his wife had come out of her room at this late hour.
He turned around to face his wife, but she was not there. To his surprise, no one was there! And yet the presence of two hands upon his remained, invisible, massaging hands, which clasped his with gentleness and love.
Oscar did not move, but not out of fear. He calmly faced the unseen visitor, then stared at his hands, but could see nothing. Sure his eyesight wasn't what it had once been, but with his glasses he could see very well. No one was with him. The room was empty of humankind. It was empty of any visible spirit form. But he felt the hands, the fingers and palms of a man.
The presence massaged his hands in a merciful manner, slowly, and with care. Warm waves rushed through Oscar, radiating across his decrepit body, and he was comforted. For a few moments the supernatural event continued, and the pains of his body and spirit were replaced by a deep, serene peace. It was at that moment he knew he was in the presence of his Lord, the Savior who died for him two millenniums past.
Jesus departed, and soon the aches and pains returned. But Oscar knew he had been visited by God, and from the wordless exchange between earthly and holy hands, he knew that things were going to be all right.
David Michael Smith is the Christian author of one suspenseful novel and a joyous collection of touching Christmas short stories. He has also had several stories published in a variety of books, including the Cup of Comfort series. For more about David and his writing, visit his website: http://www.davidmichaelsmith.net. This story appeared in Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives(CSS Publishing, 2004).
Sermon Starters
Good Shepherds
by John Sumwalt
"The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice."
John 10:2-4
On the farm where I grew up in Richland County, the heart of Wisconsin's dairyland, we milked about forty head of Holstein cows. Every one of them had a name. There was Polly and Molly and Daisy and Beulah and Patsy and Dina and Blackie and Bell. (I used to be able to name all forty and I could tell you the stalls they stood in, just like I used to be able to name every player on the 1957 Milwaukee Braves team and the position they played.) Bell was our lead cow. She had a bell around her neck and always led the other cows home from the pasture. Old Blackie was the cow with the injured teat that wouldn't fit in the milking machine, so we had to milk it by hand. That was my job. Sometimes I would squirt the milk toward one of the cats. They were always delighted and would take turns catching the stream of milk in their mouths. Beulah was our biggest milk producer. It took two pails to hold all of her milk. And Dina, short for dynamite, was our kicker. We never knew when she was going to kick the milking machine off. But we kept her because if you talked to her just right she was the second biggest producer in the barn.
Every cow had a name, and my dad could tell every name of every cow we ever had, complete with a detailed history of each one. A farmer spends a good deal of time with his cows. He gets to know them and comes to have a great affection for them because they are his life as well as his livelihood.
It was like that for shepherds and their sheep in Palestine. A shepherd spent almost all of his time with his sheep. He knew each one by name, and could recognize each sheep on sight (spot on the leg, torn ear, size, limp). The shepherd was responsible for the life of each one. If anything happened to any of his sheep, he had to produce evidence to the community that he had not been derelict in his duty, such as bringing home the skin of the wild animal that had injured or killed it.
Jackie Robinson
Jackie Robinson once said, "A life is not important except in its impact on the lives of others." Jackie Robinson knew the importance of being a good shepherd. Home run slugger Hank Aaron wrote of Jackie Robinson in a New York Times article that was syndicated around the country:
"Jackie Robinson meant everything to me. Before I was a teenager, I was telling my father that I was going to be a ballplayer, and he was telling me, 'Ain't no colored ballplayers.' Then Jackie broke into the Brooklyn Dodgers lineup in 1947, and Daddy never said that again. When the Dodgers played an exhibition game in Mobile, Alabama, on their way north the next spring, Daddy even came to the game with me. A black man in a major-league uniform: that was something my father had to see for himself. Jackie not only showed me and my generation what we could do, he also showed us how to do it. By watching him, we knew that we would have to swallow an awful lot of pride to make it in the big leagues. We knew of the hatred and cruelty Jackie had to endure quietly from the fans, the press, and the anti-integrationist teams such as the Cardinals and the Phillies, and even from his teammates. We also knew that he didn't subject himself to all that for personal benefit. Why would he choose to get spiked and cursed at and spat on for his own account? Jackie was a college football hero, a handsome, intelligent, talented guy with a lot going for him. He didn't need that kind of humiliation. And it certainly wasn't in his nature to suffer it silently. But he had to, not for himself, but for me and all the young black kids like me. When Jackie Robinson loosened his fist and turned the other cheek, he was taking the blows for the love and future of his people." (Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, April 17, 1997)
Jackie Robinson was a good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.
**************
New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. (Click on the title for information about how to order.) Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Anne Sunday, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A.
Other Books by John & 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 A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; 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.)
**************
About the Editors
John E. Sumwalt is the pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, and is the author of eight books for CSS. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), John received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for Parish Ministry from UDTS in 1997. John is known in the Milwaukee area for his one-minute radio spots which always include a brief story. He concludes each spot by saying, "I'm John Sumwalt with 'A Story to Live By' from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church."
John has done numerous storytelling events for civic, school, and church groups, as well as on radio and television. He has performed at a number of fundraisers for the homeless, the hungry, Habitat for Humanity, and women's shelters. Since the fall of 1999, when he began working on the Vision Stories series, he has led seminars and retreats around the themes "A Safe Place to Tell Visions," "Vision Stories in the Bible and Today," and coming this spring: "Soul Growth: Discovering Lost Spiritual Dimensions." To schedule a seminar or a retreat, write to jsumwalt@naspa.net or phone 414-257-1228.
Joanne Perry-Sumwalt is director of Christian Education at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee. Jo is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, with a degree in English and writing. She has co-authored two books with John, Life Stories: A Study In Christian Decision Making and Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit: 62 Stories For Cycle B. Jo writes original curriculum for church classes. She also serves as the secretary of the Wisconsin chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship (CEF), and is a member of the National CEF.
Jo and John have been married since 1975. They have two grown children, Kathryn and Orrin. They both love reading, movies, long walks with Chloe (their West Highland Terrier), and working on their old farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin.
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StoryShare, April 17, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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.
