He Saved My Life Today!
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"He Saved My Life Today!" by Argile Smith
"The Mountain of the Lord" by Larry Winebrenner
"Rescue Ship" by Larry Winebrenner
"Games" by Larry Winebrenner
"There Is No Death, Just Life" by W. Lamar Massingill
"Telling the Story" by Larry Winebrenner
"What's in a Day?" by W. Lamar Massingill
"The Living Cross" by Larry Winebrenner
What's Up This Week
It's not a coincidence that we celebrate Jesus' resurrection in the springtime, for there's a synergy between the symbols of the empty tomb (Jesus' triumph over death) and the Easter lily (new life springing forth). This week's Easter edition of StoryShare features several stories and meditations on the power of vigilance and belief to save life and make it more fulfilling -- from Argile Smith's account of a man spared by a watchful neighbor, to Larry Winebrenner's tales of the heading off of a blood feud and the rescue of a shipwrecked party, to Lamar Massingill's exploration of the freedom that comes when death loses its control over us. Winebrenner and Massingill also offer personal reflections that underscore the reality of the empty tomb and the possibility for every day to be an Easter day with new life.
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He Saved My Life Today!
by Argile Smith
Isaiah 25:6-9; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Brad admitted to Herman that he didn’t know very much about tractors when he bought one for himself. His little farm -- which could be described more accurately as a farmette -- required him to stay on top of chores like keeping his fence near the road weed-free and mowing the meadow that surrounded his tiny house. For the fence-cleaning chore, he invested in a gas-powered weed trimmer. For the meadow, he bought himself a used tractor. Although the tractor he bought was big, rusty, smoky, and loud, he thought it would be sufficient to mow the acreage he had recently acquired.
Brad's neighbor Herman stood by as the tractor rolled off the trailer. Herman had lived around farm equipment all of his life. His dad sold plows and mules back in the day before tractors. Then when tractors came into vogue, he sold them too. From the time he was old enough to remember, Herman knew how to drive a tractor, how to take care of it, and how to use it in the field. He promised Brad that he would come over and give him some pointers on how to use the beast of a tractor that had just been unloaded.
After a brief introduction to how the tractor worked, Herman hopped on the seat and let Brad sit on the fender as he made a loop or two around the house. From his perch, Brad could see how Herman shifted gears, accelerated, and used the brake. After the tutorial, Herman confessed that he let Brad sit on the tractor's fender so he could see for himself how to maneuver the machine. He insisted, however, that Brad should never allow anyone to sit there. Herman explained that if the tractor lunged quickly, the person on the fender would be thrown off the tractor and under the mowing machine in a heartbeat. He made Brad promise that he would never allow anyone to sit there while he drove the tractor. Herman added that he would feel awful if someone got hurt because Brad let him or her sit there.
Herman went on to show Brad how to hook up the mowing machine to the back of the tractor. (Brad had bought it when he purchased the tractor.) Then he taught Brad how to engage the mowing machine so the blades would spin to cut the grass and how to disengage it when he finished.
Brad thought that he was ready to give his tractor a try. Herman cranked the tractor for him and recapped what he had taught Brad against the backdrop of engine racket and smoke plumes. Brad nodded that he understood, hopped on the tractor, and made his way through the gate and into the meadow. Herman could see that Brad had engaged the mower blade when he observed clipped grass flying from the side of the mower. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Brad successfully make his first round through the meadow.
He turned his back to walk to his truck and glanced over his shoulder to take one last look how Brad was doing. At that moment, he could see trouble coming. Brad had stopped the tractor to pick up his cap, which the breeze had blown off his head and onto the ground. The cap happened to be just behind the huge tire, and Brad had just bent over to pick it up off the ground when Herman saw him. Because Brad had stopped the tractor on a hill and hadn’t engaged the emergency brake, it started moving backward toward him as he bent over to get his cap. When he noticed the tire rolling toward him, he panicked and slipped down on the cut grass. The rolling tire had trapped his foot and began to roll over his leg. His hip would be next, and then his back, and then his head.
Herman ran like a sprinter toward Brad, got to him just before the tire rolled over his hip, and moved his body out of the way of the coming tragedy. The tire rolled over Brad's leg and then on to the ground again, giving Herman time to drag Brad out of danger.
He dialed 911, and in a few minutes an ambulance arrived. Emergency medical technicians tended to Brad's badly hurt leg, got him into the ambulance, and headed toward the hospital. Then Herman called Brad's wife to tell her what had happened. She left her office and met Brad at the hospital. As the emergency room technicians rolled Brad into a treatment room, he kept on telling her, "Honey, Herman saved my life today!"
On Easter Sunday, we proclaim "God saved our lives today!" Isaiah prophesied a time when God's salvation would come (Isaiah 25:6-9). Paul testified that he had experienced God's salvation for himself through Christ (1 Corinthians 15:1-11).
Argile Smith is the pastor of First Baptist Church in Biloxi, Mississippi. He previously served as the vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and as a preaching professor, chairman of the division of pastoral ministries, and director of the communications center at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS). While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books.
The Mountain of the Lord
by Larry Winebrenner
Isaiah 25:6-9
It's called Turner Mountain. Nobody knows where the name came from. So far as we knew, there were no Turners in the whole county, and no heroes known to local history named Turner.
I guess Granddaddy's explanation is as good as any. According to him, it got its name from a feud that caused a great deal of heartbreak back in colonial days. Or more correctly, the end of the feud.
According to Granddaddy, the feud started when the Porters' brood sow got into the McGuires' cabbage patch. Old Joe McGuire marched over to the Porters' farmhouse and demanded payment for damages.
Porter refused and McGuire said, "I guess I'll have cabbage-fed Porter pork on my table this winter."
Porter said, "You touch a single bristle on Betsy's hide and you’ll have to figure which horse trader has your prize stallion."
Words turned into bullets and one of the bullets found its way into Jess Porter's boy's leg. It looked for a while like there was going to be an all-out war between the families.
Then something happened.
The head of each family got a message to meet on that mountain to settle differences. Each patriarch thought it meant a showdown shootout. They came with enough arms to start another revolution.
But when they arrived, there were several picnic tables loaded with food. Beef -- rare and well-done, fork-tender with gravy; chicken -- fried, baked, fricasseed, broiled; pork -- chops, ribs, barbecued, fried; lamb -- leg, chops, breast, with and without mint jelly; cheese -- cheddar, swiss, edam; schmierkase, potatoes, rice, beans, carrots, tomatoes -- the abundance went on and on… and smelled glorious. Someone intoned a prayer and yelled, "Dig in."
And they did.
Joe sought out Jess and thanked him for the feast. Jess looked at him in surprise.
"My feast?" he said. "I thought you provided it."
No matter. The feud was turned into fellowship. They called the mountain Turner Mountain because that's where the hearts of neighbors were turned to one another again.
Granddaddy always ended the story by saying, "The Lord wiped away the tears of the brokenhearted that day. He removed the shroud of death that the feud had spread over the valley."
Granddaddy then drew his conclusion.
"From then on, each family took turns furnishing the feast on the anniversary of that first feast. Yeah, everyone calls it Turner Mountain. I call it the Mountain of the Lord."
Rescue Ship
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
A shipwreck is a terrible disaster. At least all those on the small vessel that foundered upon the reef made it to shore safely.
They were all wet, and though this was the tropics, the wind drove chill to the bones. Josh huddled the people together for warmth. He herded them into the shelter of a large cliff out of the wind.
Alive. Yes, they were alive. But for how long? And just where were they? Was this an island? A continental shoreline? A friendly country? An alien land?
They huddled for warmth. More. They huddled for comfort. And safety.
The sun rose. It warmed arms, legs, necks, shoulders, backs. The wind now was a gentle breeze, blowing their hair lightly. The water consisted of waves gently lapping the sandy shore, no longer rolling, threatening breakers. Gulls cried raucously from the sky and dove into the sea, arising into the sky with their prey.
"Folks!" called Josh, standing upon a large stone that in some past age had fallen from the cliff.
People still drowsy from the night's exhausting experience roused themselves.
"We are fortunate," he declared. "There are fruit trees and berries all around. Shellfish abound. The gulls announce a splendid supply of fish near shore. This is a good place to wait."
"Wait for what?" called an old man's voice.
"For a rescue ship. I climbed the cliff this morning. There is sandy shore as far as you can see in each direction. No boats. No villages. No smoke from any quarter. But here is good. We'll build a signal fire ready to light. We will wait."
There was the normal amount of grumbling. Josh had not been elected their leader, but he seemed to know what to do. They let him lead.
One day Josh announced, "I saw a ship in the distance from the cliff. We must light the fire."
"I didn't see anything," announced Jack.
"Me neither," put in Jim. "And it took lots of work to gather materials and build that fire."
"Climb the cliff and look," invited Josh.
Rocky was the only one to accept Josh’s invitation. The climb was hard and dangerous. Almost to the top, Rocky cried out, "There she is! Light the fire."
"Do you believe old hardhead?" Jack asked Jim about Rocky.
"I think he sees what he wants to see," answered Jim.
He walked over to the cliff. "Just one way to find out," he said, and began the ascent. Jack followed.
Part way up, Jack said, "The ship's there."
The doubting survivors first crowded down to the shore, trying to see what might be out at sea. Then a woman's voice called out, "You're too low. Come over to this rise."
People climbed the rise around her and caught sight of smoke rising from the surface of the ocean.
"It's from the smokestack," explained a child.
In the excitement, one old man went to the fire that had been laid. He took out a match he had been saving for this single purpose. He struck the match and lit the tinder. Soon a great blaze reached into the air. People began feeding wet seaweed to the fire. Smoke drifted aloft.
It was not until a crowd of witnesses testified to the rescue ship's presence that the fire would be lit and the vessel would come. Often life is like that.
Games
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
One of the favorite classroom games teachers had us play when I attended elementary school was "Gossip." I think it's still played, but now is called "Telephone," presumably a more politically correct term.
The game typically was played by whispering a word or phrase to a student at one end of a line. That person whispered the message to the second person, the second person whispered it to the third, and so on to the end of the line. Then the final message was compared with the original.
The results were always considered funny. Perhaps the original message was "I like fried eggs," and the final rendition "Blue cars fly." To us, the teacher was playing a game. Perhaps the teacher was subtly teaching a principle.
At family devotions one evening Grandmother read about Jesus after the Resurrection: "He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me" (1 Corinthians 15:5-8).
"That sounds like Gossip," I observed. After a short, heated discussion about how I was talking about the game and not street prattling, Grandmother addressed my original intent.
"One day President Roosevelt visited our town." She was talking about FDR, who came to our area to inspect a nearby military base. "Dowling returned from town and announced he had seen the president. Of course, no one believed him. There were no TVs in those days, and our family wasn't lucky enough to own a radio."
She didn't say so, but there were no power lines in that part of the county, so she wouldn't have had electricity if the family did own a radio.
"Then Julian came home from high school," she continued. "He was all excited. ‘President Roosevelt visited our school today,’ he said. I didn’t much believe him. I thought Dowling had put him up to saying it. It wasn’t until Sunday morning in church when everyone was talking about the president's visit that I finally believed he had been to our town."
She read the passage again, then said: "Believing a man was raised from the dead was even harder than believing the President of the United States visited your hometown. If it had just been Peter, folks might have said it was just wishful thinking. Or a mistake. Or even gossip. Even just the disciples might have been questioned. But when over five hundred people and the man’s own brother became witnesses, there was no longer any doubt. Indeed, Jesus was raised from the dead."
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.
There Is No Death, Just Life
by W. Lamar Massingill
John 20:1-18
You have to admit that in some sense we feel like death is annihilation, a cement floor waiting for a falling light bulb. But what if what Gail Sheehy once called "the dark at the end of the tunnel" (her metaphor for death) could somehow lose its foreboding control over us and turn into "the light at the end of the tunnel" instead?
I remember a play written years ago by Eugene O'Neill, one of America's great playwrights, called Lazarus Laughed. It was by no means a commercial success, but I think its depth of wisdom would serve to inform us about our fear of death. Reading the work proved to be a profound spiritual experience for me, to the extent that I recognized the freedom that would happen if we did not fear death as much as we do.
O'Neill picks up where the biblical story about Lazarus leaves off. That is, at the beginning of the play, Jesus has just called Lazarus back from three days in the tomb and has instructed that he be unbound. O'Neill has Lazarus coming out of the tomb laughing -- not a bitter, scornful laugh, but a gentle, tender kind of sound. He doesn’t have a faraway look in his eyes, but rather seems to see the people closest to him with a new kind of delight and affection. He embraces his sisters Mary and Martha. He embraces the friend who brought about this miracle. He pats the earth with wonder. He looks up to the sky with an astonishing sense of delight. It is as if everything has taken on a new luster because of what he has learned.
After Lazarus has gone home and all the excitement of his return has begun to settle, people inevitably begin to ask Lazarus the primal question on all their minds: "Lazarus, what is it like to die? What is it like to move into that portal, that entrance into what is unknown?"
Lazarus begins to laugh that gentle, wonderful laughter of delight, and he opens his mouth and says, "There is only life; there is only God; there is nothing to fear. Death is not what it looks like from this side. It is not an abyss into which we fall; it is an exit through which we move. It simply opens into greater light, into a realm of everlasting change. There is nothing out there to fear, for there is only life; there is only God. Therefore we don’t have to be afraid anymore. The object of life is not to avoid death but to learn to live. We must learn to embrace the earth the way God embraces it, to love each other, to affirm each other, to help the whole creation grow. Do not be afraid," Lazarus keeps saying, "there is nothing to fear, there is only life."
As the play unfolds, Lazarus embodies what it would mean to be freed of death. His house becomes the house of laughter. There is music and dancing there day and night, and as he continues to live in this free and wonderful way, other human beings are caught up in the joyfulness of it. They cease to be afraid. They start being generous and humane with one another. They fall back into the delight of life itself. They participate in God’s delight over creation. And these realities begin to spread throughout the entire community.
The Roman officials notice this and they, like most controlling people, become disturbed at all this laughing. Remember, there is nothing more dangerous to a tyrant than a person who has lost his fear of death. How do you intimidate such a person? How do you grind him into obedience? So Lazarus is finally arrested by the Roman authorities, and they say, "Lazarus, you have got to stop this incessant laughter. You do it now, or we will punish you." And Lazarus continues to laugh and say, "There is no death, there is only life."
And not being able to stop Lazarus, they finally ship him to Rome where he is ushered into the presence of the emperor himself. In frustration, the emperor says the same thing: "Stop it, Lazarus. Stop this laughter. If you do not stop, I’m going to have you killed."
Which was answered only by a continuous kind of laughter, with Lazarus saying, "Go ahead. You have no power over me ultimately. There is no death, there is only life." The play ends with the laughing Lazarus having conquered the emperor of Rome because his fear of death has been conquered forever.
Here I think that O'Neill has put his finger on the functional power of what would happen if the dark at the end of the tunnel ever lost its control over human beings.
Remember: There is no death, there is only life. There is only God.
W. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, is now the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi. He also serves as religion editor for the Magnolia Gazette and as a guest columnist for the United Methodist Advocate and the Richton Dispatch. Massengill is the author of two books, New Eyes: A Spirituality of Identity Formation and Soul Places, and he has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He is a graduate of William Carey University and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.
Telling the Story
by Larry Winebrenner
John 20:1-18; Mark 16:1-8
It is passing strange that the earliest gospel written (Mark) and the last (perhaps) written (John) should give such different accounts of the events at the empty tomb. Maybe Mark, who is believed by many scholars to be a reporter of Peter’s reminiscences, reported what Peter said. And John, if he is the actual author of the gospel attributed to him, was reporting from firsthand knowledge.
But none of that matters. Not whether Mark actually did report Peter's words. Not whether the gospel of John was actually written by John. Not whether they agree on the details.
What matters is the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Go to any court trial and listen to eyewitnesses tell what they saw. Rarely do different people see exactly the same thing. And even when a person reports exactly what they thought they saw, they may be mistaken.
I recall a time when I was in a converted TBM that had the gun turret replaced by a radar greenhouse. We were flying off the coast of Molokai in the Hawaiian Islands, practicing radar navigation.
I was an aircrewman, a radar instructor. I had been trained in careful observation of phenomena. It was important that all observations be critically correct.
Now this was a time when the flying saucer "sightings" were at their zenith. This seemed especially true in the Islands. As a sensible, objective individual, I pretty much felt these were hysteria, hoaxes, or misunderstood natural phenomena.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I looked out the greenhouse and saw a red-lighted object flying along side the aircraft. It wasn't out of the corner of my eye that I saw it. I looked directly out at it, quite beyond the end of the wing tip. It kept steady pace with us.
Light on a radio tower? I began to navigate.
"Easy right."
The pilot slowly turned right. The light followed.
"Steady as she goes."
The plane straightened out. So did the light.
"Easy left."
The plane and the light turned left. Uncannily, the craft flying alongside us mimicked our every move.
Finally, I pulled my mike to my mouth and called "Mr. Mitchy." I wanted verification. But as I made the call, the craft simply disappeared right in front of my eyes.
"Yeah, Winebrenner," he said.
Was I going to tell him what I just saw? Was I going to be one of those goofballs imagining a sighting of a flying saucer? Was I going to face the ridicule of officers and white hats alike when Mr. Mitchy laughingly told them what I said?
Not on your life!
I lowered the mike. The light reappeared! I quickly raised the mike. It disappeared.
Slowly I began to raise and lower the mike. Then it dawned on me, I had been seeing the reflection of my radar’s pilot light.
Believe me, until that moment of realization I was ready to go on record as actually seeing a flying object, knowing I'd have a trained pilot to back up my story.
The point is, what I saw was not real and Mr. Mitchy would have reported something differently.
But we both would say we were in a converted TBM flying off the coast of Molokai. That was the reality.
In the garden, the empty tomb was the reality. The details of what was seen was not the event. The empty tomb was the important fact that day -- and forever!
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
What's in a Day?
by W. Lamar Massingill
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Psalm 118 begins with all the good things that make our lives meaningful and vibrant. From the first verse inviting us to give gratitude to the great generosity of God, to verse 24 inviting us to be glad for the gift of a day, the psalmist is full of joy.
While reading this passage, I was reminded of Christmas Day in 1992. We were glad to have our nephew Michael back with the entire family that day. He had been in Wales doing a year's study. The last time I had seen him was when I was in Oxford, England, in February of 1992. Michael took the train from Wales to visit me, trudging well over a mile from the Oxford station, through the snow and ice, to my hotel room.
All these thoughts danced in my head as I held Michael's Christmas gift in my hands. I savored opening it. And when the last moment came, the moment when I took the lid off the box, I saw that there was nothing in it. The box, my Christmas gift, was empty. Nothing. I looked across the room past the maze of confused faces to Michael's face, which had a knowing smile on it. I immediately got the point, and told all the waiting faces that it is perhaps the best gift I could ever receive, because it is a reminder that something begins with nothing. This story becomes particularly meaningful to me with regard not only to the creation story, when indeed God had nothing with which to work except a void, but also to Psalm 118, especially verse 24, where we are invited to rejoice and be glad during a day.
I don't know if you have ever thought about it, but the first gift The Great Generosity we call God ever gave to Creation was a day. It may not sound like a lot to you, but think about it. Really, all we have are days. Days are the canvases on which we paint our continuing stories. They give us opportunities to seize paintbrushes and begin shaping the pictures of our lives. A day is a wonderful gift. It is, quite literally, the frame within which we create our lives.
A day is sort of like Michael's gift of an empty box. There is absolutely nothing in it except the realities we choose to put there. But please never forget: days may be God's gifts, but they are our responsibilities. What we do with these days that are so generously given is up to us.
Actually, I suppose it could be said that we have been given a collection of days, days that can be used either toward creativity or destruction. And whether our days will be good or bad, full of growth or the absence of it, will depend upon what we choose to put into them.
Gratitude is the parent of generosity. So really, in light of resurrection, all our days have possibility of being Easter events!
W. Lamar Massingill is an author, columnist, and the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi.
The Living Cross
by Larry Winebrenner
Acts 10:34-43
Jeremiah Smith was just learning the African dialect of the village where he was sent. He did his best to explain the gospel to the villagers but sometimes struggled to get his points across.
Still, they loved the stories about the man-god Jerry told them about -- the little baby fleeing for its life from the jealous chief, the washing in the river, the spirit-god that came as a bird, the stories, the miracles, his bravery in facing pain and death on a cross.
But one day they rejected Jerry's claims. A dead man might come back in a dream. Not as a live person. No. No. No.
Jerry was discouraged. He was about to give up when the government ran power lines through the village. Then he was really dejected. People would point at the power poles that looked like the cross he had described. They pointed. They laughed.
The rainy season came. The government workers stopped setting up poles until the rainy season was over. In the poles they had set up, there was still life. The rain, the sun, caused the life in them to begin to emerge in little green shoots… then branches and leaves.
The startled villagers still pointed. They no longer laughed.
"The Christian is right," they began to say. "His God can bring life to the dead."
So Jerry once more began telling his stories. Listening were attentive ears.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
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StoryShare, April 12, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"He Saved My Life Today!" by Argile Smith
"The Mountain of the Lord" by Larry Winebrenner
"Rescue Ship" by Larry Winebrenner
"Games" by Larry Winebrenner
"There Is No Death, Just Life" by W. Lamar Massingill
"Telling the Story" by Larry Winebrenner
"What's in a Day?" by W. Lamar Massingill
"The Living Cross" by Larry Winebrenner
What's Up This Week
It's not a coincidence that we celebrate Jesus' resurrection in the springtime, for there's a synergy between the symbols of the empty tomb (Jesus' triumph over death) and the Easter lily (new life springing forth). This week's Easter edition of StoryShare features several stories and meditations on the power of vigilance and belief to save life and make it more fulfilling -- from Argile Smith's account of a man spared by a watchful neighbor, to Larry Winebrenner's tales of the heading off of a blood feud and the rescue of a shipwrecked party, to Lamar Massingill's exploration of the freedom that comes when death loses its control over us. Winebrenner and Massingill also offer personal reflections that underscore the reality of the empty tomb and the possibility for every day to be an Easter day with new life.
* * * * * * * * *
He Saved My Life Today!
by Argile Smith
Isaiah 25:6-9; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Brad admitted to Herman that he didn’t know very much about tractors when he bought one for himself. His little farm -- which could be described more accurately as a farmette -- required him to stay on top of chores like keeping his fence near the road weed-free and mowing the meadow that surrounded his tiny house. For the fence-cleaning chore, he invested in a gas-powered weed trimmer. For the meadow, he bought himself a used tractor. Although the tractor he bought was big, rusty, smoky, and loud, he thought it would be sufficient to mow the acreage he had recently acquired.
Brad's neighbor Herman stood by as the tractor rolled off the trailer. Herman had lived around farm equipment all of his life. His dad sold plows and mules back in the day before tractors. Then when tractors came into vogue, he sold them too. From the time he was old enough to remember, Herman knew how to drive a tractor, how to take care of it, and how to use it in the field. He promised Brad that he would come over and give him some pointers on how to use the beast of a tractor that had just been unloaded.
After a brief introduction to how the tractor worked, Herman hopped on the seat and let Brad sit on the fender as he made a loop or two around the house. From his perch, Brad could see how Herman shifted gears, accelerated, and used the brake. After the tutorial, Herman confessed that he let Brad sit on the tractor's fender so he could see for himself how to maneuver the machine. He insisted, however, that Brad should never allow anyone to sit there. Herman explained that if the tractor lunged quickly, the person on the fender would be thrown off the tractor and under the mowing machine in a heartbeat. He made Brad promise that he would never allow anyone to sit there while he drove the tractor. Herman added that he would feel awful if someone got hurt because Brad let him or her sit there.
Herman went on to show Brad how to hook up the mowing machine to the back of the tractor. (Brad had bought it when he purchased the tractor.) Then he taught Brad how to engage the mowing machine so the blades would spin to cut the grass and how to disengage it when he finished.
Brad thought that he was ready to give his tractor a try. Herman cranked the tractor for him and recapped what he had taught Brad against the backdrop of engine racket and smoke plumes. Brad nodded that he understood, hopped on the tractor, and made his way through the gate and into the meadow. Herman could see that Brad had engaged the mower blade when he observed clipped grass flying from the side of the mower. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Brad successfully make his first round through the meadow.
He turned his back to walk to his truck and glanced over his shoulder to take one last look how Brad was doing. At that moment, he could see trouble coming. Brad had stopped the tractor to pick up his cap, which the breeze had blown off his head and onto the ground. The cap happened to be just behind the huge tire, and Brad had just bent over to pick it up off the ground when Herman saw him. Because Brad had stopped the tractor on a hill and hadn’t engaged the emergency brake, it started moving backward toward him as he bent over to get his cap. When he noticed the tire rolling toward him, he panicked and slipped down on the cut grass. The rolling tire had trapped his foot and began to roll over his leg. His hip would be next, and then his back, and then his head.
Herman ran like a sprinter toward Brad, got to him just before the tire rolled over his hip, and moved his body out of the way of the coming tragedy. The tire rolled over Brad's leg and then on to the ground again, giving Herman time to drag Brad out of danger.
He dialed 911, and in a few minutes an ambulance arrived. Emergency medical technicians tended to Brad's badly hurt leg, got him into the ambulance, and headed toward the hospital. Then Herman called Brad's wife to tell her what had happened. She left her office and met Brad at the hospital. As the emergency room technicians rolled Brad into a treatment room, he kept on telling her, "Honey, Herman saved my life today!"
On Easter Sunday, we proclaim "God saved our lives today!" Isaiah prophesied a time when God's salvation would come (Isaiah 25:6-9). Paul testified that he had experienced God's salvation for himself through Christ (1 Corinthians 15:1-11).
Argile Smith is the pastor of First Baptist Church in Biloxi, Mississippi. He previously served as the vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and as a preaching professor, chairman of the division of pastoral ministries, and director of the communications center at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS). While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books.
The Mountain of the Lord
by Larry Winebrenner
Isaiah 25:6-9
It's called Turner Mountain. Nobody knows where the name came from. So far as we knew, there were no Turners in the whole county, and no heroes known to local history named Turner.
I guess Granddaddy's explanation is as good as any. According to him, it got its name from a feud that caused a great deal of heartbreak back in colonial days. Or more correctly, the end of the feud.
According to Granddaddy, the feud started when the Porters' brood sow got into the McGuires' cabbage patch. Old Joe McGuire marched over to the Porters' farmhouse and demanded payment for damages.
Porter refused and McGuire said, "I guess I'll have cabbage-fed Porter pork on my table this winter."
Porter said, "You touch a single bristle on Betsy's hide and you’ll have to figure which horse trader has your prize stallion."
Words turned into bullets and one of the bullets found its way into Jess Porter's boy's leg. It looked for a while like there was going to be an all-out war between the families.
Then something happened.
The head of each family got a message to meet on that mountain to settle differences. Each patriarch thought it meant a showdown shootout. They came with enough arms to start another revolution.
But when they arrived, there were several picnic tables loaded with food. Beef -- rare and well-done, fork-tender with gravy; chicken -- fried, baked, fricasseed, broiled; pork -- chops, ribs, barbecued, fried; lamb -- leg, chops, breast, with and without mint jelly; cheese -- cheddar, swiss, edam; schmierkase, potatoes, rice, beans, carrots, tomatoes -- the abundance went on and on… and smelled glorious. Someone intoned a prayer and yelled, "Dig in."
And they did.
Joe sought out Jess and thanked him for the feast. Jess looked at him in surprise.
"My feast?" he said. "I thought you provided it."
No matter. The feud was turned into fellowship. They called the mountain Turner Mountain because that's where the hearts of neighbors were turned to one another again.
Granddaddy always ended the story by saying, "The Lord wiped away the tears of the brokenhearted that day. He removed the shroud of death that the feud had spread over the valley."
Granddaddy then drew his conclusion.
"From then on, each family took turns furnishing the feast on the anniversary of that first feast. Yeah, everyone calls it Turner Mountain. I call it the Mountain of the Lord."
Rescue Ship
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
A shipwreck is a terrible disaster. At least all those on the small vessel that foundered upon the reef made it to shore safely.
They were all wet, and though this was the tropics, the wind drove chill to the bones. Josh huddled the people together for warmth. He herded them into the shelter of a large cliff out of the wind.
Alive. Yes, they were alive. But for how long? And just where were they? Was this an island? A continental shoreline? A friendly country? An alien land?
They huddled for warmth. More. They huddled for comfort. And safety.
The sun rose. It warmed arms, legs, necks, shoulders, backs. The wind now was a gentle breeze, blowing their hair lightly. The water consisted of waves gently lapping the sandy shore, no longer rolling, threatening breakers. Gulls cried raucously from the sky and dove into the sea, arising into the sky with their prey.
"Folks!" called Josh, standing upon a large stone that in some past age had fallen from the cliff.
People still drowsy from the night's exhausting experience roused themselves.
"We are fortunate," he declared. "There are fruit trees and berries all around. Shellfish abound. The gulls announce a splendid supply of fish near shore. This is a good place to wait."
"Wait for what?" called an old man's voice.
"For a rescue ship. I climbed the cliff this morning. There is sandy shore as far as you can see in each direction. No boats. No villages. No smoke from any quarter. But here is good. We'll build a signal fire ready to light. We will wait."
There was the normal amount of grumbling. Josh had not been elected their leader, but he seemed to know what to do. They let him lead.
One day Josh announced, "I saw a ship in the distance from the cliff. We must light the fire."
"I didn't see anything," announced Jack.
"Me neither," put in Jim. "And it took lots of work to gather materials and build that fire."
"Climb the cliff and look," invited Josh.
Rocky was the only one to accept Josh’s invitation. The climb was hard and dangerous. Almost to the top, Rocky cried out, "There she is! Light the fire."
"Do you believe old hardhead?" Jack asked Jim about Rocky.
"I think he sees what he wants to see," answered Jim.
He walked over to the cliff. "Just one way to find out," he said, and began the ascent. Jack followed.
Part way up, Jack said, "The ship's there."
The doubting survivors first crowded down to the shore, trying to see what might be out at sea. Then a woman's voice called out, "You're too low. Come over to this rise."
People climbed the rise around her and caught sight of smoke rising from the surface of the ocean.
"It's from the smokestack," explained a child.
In the excitement, one old man went to the fire that had been laid. He took out a match he had been saving for this single purpose. He struck the match and lit the tinder. Soon a great blaze reached into the air. People began feeding wet seaweed to the fire. Smoke drifted aloft.
It was not until a crowd of witnesses testified to the rescue ship's presence that the fire would be lit and the vessel would come. Often life is like that.
Games
by Larry Winebrenner
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
One of the favorite classroom games teachers had us play when I attended elementary school was "Gossip." I think it's still played, but now is called "Telephone," presumably a more politically correct term.
The game typically was played by whispering a word or phrase to a student at one end of a line. That person whispered the message to the second person, the second person whispered it to the third, and so on to the end of the line. Then the final message was compared with the original.
The results were always considered funny. Perhaps the original message was "I like fried eggs," and the final rendition "Blue cars fly." To us, the teacher was playing a game. Perhaps the teacher was subtly teaching a principle.
At family devotions one evening Grandmother read about Jesus after the Resurrection: "He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me" (1 Corinthians 15:5-8).
"That sounds like Gossip," I observed. After a short, heated discussion about how I was talking about the game and not street prattling, Grandmother addressed my original intent.
"One day President Roosevelt visited our town." She was talking about FDR, who came to our area to inspect a nearby military base. "Dowling returned from town and announced he had seen the president. Of course, no one believed him. There were no TVs in those days, and our family wasn't lucky enough to own a radio."
She didn't say so, but there were no power lines in that part of the county, so she wouldn't have had electricity if the family did own a radio.
"Then Julian came home from high school," she continued. "He was all excited. ‘President Roosevelt visited our school today,’ he said. I didn’t much believe him. I thought Dowling had put him up to saying it. It wasn’t until Sunday morning in church when everyone was talking about the president's visit that I finally believed he had been to our town."
She read the passage again, then said: "Believing a man was raised from the dead was even harder than believing the President of the United States visited your hometown. If it had just been Peter, folks might have said it was just wishful thinking. Or a mistake. Or even gossip. Even just the disciples might have been questioned. But when over five hundred people and the man’s own brother became witnesses, there was no longer any doubt. Indeed, Jesus was raised from the dead."
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.
There Is No Death, Just Life
by W. Lamar Massingill
John 20:1-18
You have to admit that in some sense we feel like death is annihilation, a cement floor waiting for a falling light bulb. But what if what Gail Sheehy once called "the dark at the end of the tunnel" (her metaphor for death) could somehow lose its foreboding control over us and turn into "the light at the end of the tunnel" instead?
I remember a play written years ago by Eugene O'Neill, one of America's great playwrights, called Lazarus Laughed. It was by no means a commercial success, but I think its depth of wisdom would serve to inform us about our fear of death. Reading the work proved to be a profound spiritual experience for me, to the extent that I recognized the freedom that would happen if we did not fear death as much as we do.
O'Neill picks up where the biblical story about Lazarus leaves off. That is, at the beginning of the play, Jesus has just called Lazarus back from three days in the tomb and has instructed that he be unbound. O'Neill has Lazarus coming out of the tomb laughing -- not a bitter, scornful laugh, but a gentle, tender kind of sound. He doesn’t have a faraway look in his eyes, but rather seems to see the people closest to him with a new kind of delight and affection. He embraces his sisters Mary and Martha. He embraces the friend who brought about this miracle. He pats the earth with wonder. He looks up to the sky with an astonishing sense of delight. It is as if everything has taken on a new luster because of what he has learned.
After Lazarus has gone home and all the excitement of his return has begun to settle, people inevitably begin to ask Lazarus the primal question on all their minds: "Lazarus, what is it like to die? What is it like to move into that portal, that entrance into what is unknown?"
Lazarus begins to laugh that gentle, wonderful laughter of delight, and he opens his mouth and says, "There is only life; there is only God; there is nothing to fear. Death is not what it looks like from this side. It is not an abyss into which we fall; it is an exit through which we move. It simply opens into greater light, into a realm of everlasting change. There is nothing out there to fear, for there is only life; there is only God. Therefore we don’t have to be afraid anymore. The object of life is not to avoid death but to learn to live. We must learn to embrace the earth the way God embraces it, to love each other, to affirm each other, to help the whole creation grow. Do not be afraid," Lazarus keeps saying, "there is nothing to fear, there is only life."
As the play unfolds, Lazarus embodies what it would mean to be freed of death. His house becomes the house of laughter. There is music and dancing there day and night, and as he continues to live in this free and wonderful way, other human beings are caught up in the joyfulness of it. They cease to be afraid. They start being generous and humane with one another. They fall back into the delight of life itself. They participate in God’s delight over creation. And these realities begin to spread throughout the entire community.
The Roman officials notice this and they, like most controlling people, become disturbed at all this laughing. Remember, there is nothing more dangerous to a tyrant than a person who has lost his fear of death. How do you intimidate such a person? How do you grind him into obedience? So Lazarus is finally arrested by the Roman authorities, and they say, "Lazarus, you have got to stop this incessant laughter. You do it now, or we will punish you." And Lazarus continues to laugh and say, "There is no death, there is only life."
And not being able to stop Lazarus, they finally ship him to Rome where he is ushered into the presence of the emperor himself. In frustration, the emperor says the same thing: "Stop it, Lazarus. Stop this laughter. If you do not stop, I’m going to have you killed."
Which was answered only by a continuous kind of laughter, with Lazarus saying, "Go ahead. You have no power over me ultimately. There is no death, there is only life." The play ends with the laughing Lazarus having conquered the emperor of Rome because his fear of death has been conquered forever.
Here I think that O'Neill has put his finger on the functional power of what would happen if the dark at the end of the tunnel ever lost its control over human beings.
Remember: There is no death, there is only life. There is only God.
W. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, is now the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi. He also serves as religion editor for the Magnolia Gazette and as a guest columnist for the United Methodist Advocate and the Richton Dispatch. Massengill is the author of two books, New Eyes: A Spirituality of Identity Formation and Soul Places, and he has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He is a graduate of William Carey University and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.
Telling the Story
by Larry Winebrenner
John 20:1-18; Mark 16:1-8
It is passing strange that the earliest gospel written (Mark) and the last (perhaps) written (John) should give such different accounts of the events at the empty tomb. Maybe Mark, who is believed by many scholars to be a reporter of Peter’s reminiscences, reported what Peter said. And John, if he is the actual author of the gospel attributed to him, was reporting from firsthand knowledge.
But none of that matters. Not whether Mark actually did report Peter's words. Not whether the gospel of John was actually written by John. Not whether they agree on the details.
What matters is the empty tomb and the risen Christ.
Go to any court trial and listen to eyewitnesses tell what they saw. Rarely do different people see exactly the same thing. And even when a person reports exactly what they thought they saw, they may be mistaken.
I recall a time when I was in a converted TBM that had the gun turret replaced by a radar greenhouse. We were flying off the coast of Molokai in the Hawaiian Islands, practicing radar navigation.
I was an aircrewman, a radar instructor. I had been trained in careful observation of phenomena. It was important that all observations be critically correct.
Now this was a time when the flying saucer "sightings" were at their zenith. This seemed especially true in the Islands. As a sensible, objective individual, I pretty much felt these were hysteria, hoaxes, or misunderstood natural phenomena.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I looked out the greenhouse and saw a red-lighted object flying along side the aircraft. It wasn't out of the corner of my eye that I saw it. I looked directly out at it, quite beyond the end of the wing tip. It kept steady pace with us.
Light on a radio tower? I began to navigate.
"Easy right."
The pilot slowly turned right. The light followed.
"Steady as she goes."
The plane straightened out. So did the light.
"Easy left."
The plane and the light turned left. Uncannily, the craft flying alongside us mimicked our every move.
Finally, I pulled my mike to my mouth and called "Mr. Mitchy." I wanted verification. But as I made the call, the craft simply disappeared right in front of my eyes.
"Yeah, Winebrenner," he said.
Was I going to tell him what I just saw? Was I going to be one of those goofballs imagining a sighting of a flying saucer? Was I going to face the ridicule of officers and white hats alike when Mr. Mitchy laughingly told them what I said?
Not on your life!
I lowered the mike. The light reappeared! I quickly raised the mike. It disappeared.
Slowly I began to raise and lower the mike. Then it dawned on me, I had been seeing the reflection of my radar’s pilot light.
Believe me, until that moment of realization I was ready to go on record as actually seeing a flying object, knowing I'd have a trained pilot to back up my story.
The point is, what I saw was not real and Mr. Mitchy would have reported something differently.
But we both would say we were in a converted TBM flying off the coast of Molokai. That was the reality.
In the garden, the empty tomb was the reality. The details of what was seen was not the event. The empty tomb was the important fact that day -- and forever!
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
What's in a Day?
by W. Lamar Massingill
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Psalm 118 begins with all the good things that make our lives meaningful and vibrant. From the first verse inviting us to give gratitude to the great generosity of God, to verse 24 inviting us to be glad for the gift of a day, the psalmist is full of joy.
While reading this passage, I was reminded of Christmas Day in 1992. We were glad to have our nephew Michael back with the entire family that day. He had been in Wales doing a year's study. The last time I had seen him was when I was in Oxford, England, in February of 1992. Michael took the train from Wales to visit me, trudging well over a mile from the Oxford station, through the snow and ice, to my hotel room.
All these thoughts danced in my head as I held Michael's Christmas gift in my hands. I savored opening it. And when the last moment came, the moment when I took the lid off the box, I saw that there was nothing in it. The box, my Christmas gift, was empty. Nothing. I looked across the room past the maze of confused faces to Michael's face, which had a knowing smile on it. I immediately got the point, and told all the waiting faces that it is perhaps the best gift I could ever receive, because it is a reminder that something begins with nothing. This story becomes particularly meaningful to me with regard not only to the creation story, when indeed God had nothing with which to work except a void, but also to Psalm 118, especially verse 24, where we are invited to rejoice and be glad during a day.
I don't know if you have ever thought about it, but the first gift The Great Generosity we call God ever gave to Creation was a day. It may not sound like a lot to you, but think about it. Really, all we have are days. Days are the canvases on which we paint our continuing stories. They give us opportunities to seize paintbrushes and begin shaping the pictures of our lives. A day is a wonderful gift. It is, quite literally, the frame within which we create our lives.
A day is sort of like Michael's gift of an empty box. There is absolutely nothing in it except the realities we choose to put there. But please never forget: days may be God's gifts, but they are our responsibilities. What we do with these days that are so generously given is up to us.
Actually, I suppose it could be said that we have been given a collection of days, days that can be used either toward creativity or destruction. And whether our days will be good or bad, full of growth or the absence of it, will depend upon what we choose to put into them.
Gratitude is the parent of generosity. So really, in light of resurrection, all our days have possibility of being Easter events!
W. Lamar Massingill is an author, columnist, and the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi.
The Living Cross
by Larry Winebrenner
Acts 10:34-43
Jeremiah Smith was just learning the African dialect of the village where he was sent. He did his best to explain the gospel to the villagers but sometimes struggled to get his points across.
Still, they loved the stories about the man-god Jerry told them about -- the little baby fleeing for its life from the jealous chief, the washing in the river, the spirit-god that came as a bird, the stories, the miracles, his bravery in facing pain and death on a cross.
But one day they rejected Jerry's claims. A dead man might come back in a dream. Not as a live person. No. No. No.
Jerry was discouraged. He was about to give up when the government ran power lines through the village. Then he was really dejected. People would point at the power poles that looked like the cross he had described. They pointed. They laughed.
The rainy season came. The government workers stopped setting up poles until the rainy season was over. In the poles they had set up, there was still life. The rain, the sun, caused the life in them to begin to emerge in little green shoots… then branches and leaves.
The startled villagers still pointed. They no longer laughed.
"The Christian is right," they began to say. "His God can bring life to the dead."
So Jerry once more began telling his stories. Listening were attentive ears.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
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StoryShare, April 12, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
