Housing Crisis
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Housing Crisis" by John Smylie
"When a Tent Is Enough" by Larry Winebrenner
"Out of Darkness" by C. David McKirachan
"Dividing Walls" by Larry Winebrenner
"Living with Pain" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Having a home is one of the most important things in our lives -- it's not merely the roof over our heads, it's also the place where we can find rest and sanctuary from the world. In this week's StoryShare, John Smiley recounts the experience of the first home he owned… and compares it with David's desire to build a home for the Lord. Smiley wonders if the desire to have a home is more of a human conceit and concludes that God is not tied down to any particular place. Larry Winebrenner takes a different approach to this scripture, spinning a tale about a man who desperately wants to build a home for his mother. He also shares a story illustrating how reaching out to visitors can break down the walls separating us. David McKirachan contributes a pair of personal essays -- one on his sobering experience in Ethiopia with natives who live in fear of God, and another on the deep pain we all live with… and how, even though there are no easy answers, Jesus reaches out to bring healing.
* * * * * * * * *
Housing Crisis
by John Smylie
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
How blessed I am to be able to remember purchasing my first home. So many people around the world have never had an opportunity to own a home. My wife and I had two small children, the second of whom was born deaf, and living in a busy part of town with a little boy who was adept at breaking locks and getting through barriers became a real problem. One day as a three-year-old he managed to get off the back porch of the place we were renting, remove the lock on the gate keeping him in the area where he was intended to be, and then he climbed down the stairs, up the driveway, and crossed a very busy road so he could get to the grocery store across the street and into the candy aisle. A stranger found him and somehow found us as well.
This escape provided for us a housing crisis. We realized we needed to move to a safer environment as we realized our son, our youngest child, might not make it where we were; he could very easily have been killed by a car. He was too adventuresome, and adding to that his hearing impairment made him more oblivious to the dangers in his environment than he might have been had he been able to hear. When he was missing or even moving toward danger we couldn't simply shout after him; one of us needed to be with him every moment in order to keep him safe. The experience of his great escape led us to a conversation with friends who helped us reason through the challenge we were facing. We concluded that we must move to a safer place -- and this led us to search for our first home.
Exacerbating the problem, I had no credit rating. I had always paid for everything with cash. It just seemed more responsible to me to save my money before I purchased a product like a car or even an education. I never wanted to be in debt, so I never borrowed money; I was used to being poor and going without. During this hour of my need no bank would give me a loan because I didn't have a credit rating, having never borrowed money. I couldn't even get a credit card. I had to ask my parents if they would co-sign a mortgage with me -- which was a moment for me to swallow my pride in order to take care of my children.
King David obviously feels a little guilty about living in his house. Throughout his life he has come to rely on the Lord. As a child he lived under the stars -- the youngest brother -- a little shepherd who became a courageous warrior and leader of his people. David comes from humble beginnings and he is confronted with the appearance of wealth. He seems to be experiencing what may be described as guilt: "See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent." This at first seems like a good intention, to want to let God be as blessed as we are -- but perhaps this is wrong thinking. God as an afterthought is always wrong thinking. That's why we're encouraged to give the tithe as the first fruit of our labors. Giving God the leftovers is never an honor to God. Giving God the leftovers is like having a wonderful roast with friends and then giving the bone to the dog. Now, I know that "God" is "dog" spelled backward -- but God does not want our leftovers. God wants the first fruit of our labors.
The house we wound up buying was in Sussex County, New Jersey, in a town called High Point. It was a home we could afford off a dirt road, with a pond behind us and a pond across the street. There may have been three or four cars per day that went up the dirt road and after a while I came to know all of them. It was a safe environment and there were a few other children living nearby, and we were very blessed to be able to live there. The house was an old converted barn -- long and narrow with three floors. The lowest floor, even though it was finished, had rooms that were less than 6 feet tall -- and being 6'3" I had to bend over to walk through them.
God at first seems a bit offended to be offered a house by David. I think the central issue is the fact that it appears to be an afterthought for David to build a house for God, but I also think that the risk of a house for God is that the people of God may be tempted to make their God smaller -- containing him within the four walls of the temple. Years ago when the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark came out, it displayed a bit of bad theology. Now I don't want to go into a full critique of the movie, but the idea that the power of God was inside a box was and is a real problem. The climax of the movie has the box being opened and God is let out -- and the power of God swoops through the evildoers and destroys them. The big problem here is putting God inside a box -- the Ark of the Covenant really was a kind of portable throne. God was always outside the box.
Whenever we try to contain God... whenever we attempt to limit God… whenever we want to control God, we are at risk. As C.S. Lewis describes in the Chronicles of Narnia, the central figure -- the lion named Aslan -- is not a tame lion. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, is not a tame God. God is not a God who either tolerates our leftovers or is a God who will allow himself to be boxed in.
When we purchased our home in Sussex County, New Jersey, we felt very blessed. My hunch is that God had no hard feelings toward David living in the house of cedar -- why would God not want David to be blessed! But when we begin to think of ourselves as having to take care of God, we are putting ourselves in the position of thinking we are above God -- and that's always a problem.
The writer of second Samuel seems to be juggling a bit himself, for he concludes this passage with God wanting a house to be built by one of David's sons. Before he gets to that point, he makes it very clear that God is not to be contained. God is a God of the outdoors… God is a God on the move, not to be tied down to a particular place... God is a God of freedom.
Perhaps the need for temples and churches and sanctuaries is a more human need than a holy need. Perhaps God tolerates this human need to build temples because human beings need things and places to remind us of that which we cannot touch or see. That's why we have the sacraments -- outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual graces and truths. The temple, churches, and sanctuaries are like sacraments designed to remind human beings of the glory of God. Perhaps God allows these places to be built to help us draw close to him. It is absurd for us to think that God only dwells within the holy places set aside by us for him. When we think about it, the truth is that God has built us a home and it is God who desires us to be stewards of creation.
When it was time to move from that home in High Point, New Jersey, I was happy to sell it but sad to leave it. Perhaps today we may remember to offer God our first fruits and give the leftovers to our dogs. Perhaps today we will remember that God creates all things including us, and our responsibility is not to take care of God but to thank and praise him for the homes and blessings that we have been given -- and especially this fragile Earth, our island home.
God is on the move -- God will not be tied down -- and better than any walls of any synagogue, sanctuary, church, or temple is the open heart of a believer ready to welcome the holy who cannot be contained.
John Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
When a Tent Is Enough
by Larry Winebrenner
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Now when the king was settled in his house, and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him, the king said to the prophet Nathan, "See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent."
-- 2 Samuel 7:1-2
Ron told his mother Myrtle, "Some day I'm going to build you a house that will make your neighbors burn with envy."
He said it the day she lost her cool. She was trying to put up groceries in the tiny cabinets over the sink. A whole stack of cans of soup tumbled into her sink and dishpan. Several of her favorite dishes were broken.
"There's never enough room!" she screamed. "There's not enough room in the closets for clothes. There's not enough room in the cupboards for food. There's not even enough room for a dirty clothes hamper." Myrtle sat at the kitchen table and cried.
Ron walked over to her. He put his arms around her and hugged her. He said, "Some day I'm going to build you a house that will make your neighbors burn with envy."
She wiped away a tear and laughed a bit nervously. "Where did a 7-year-old boy like you learn a phrase like that?" she asked. "Do you know what it means to burn with envy?"
"Yes ma'am," said Ron. "I saw it in a movie. The man told his wife that one day he'd buy her a car that would make the neighbors burn with envy. She had an old rattletrap. That's what she called it. At the end of the movie the old rattletrap was towed away and a beautiful big car was driven into the driveway. She told her husband, 'I'm going to miss the old heap.' And all the women in the neighborhood came over to look at her car. And you could tell they were real jealous. And that's what 'burn with envy' means."
Myrtle took Ron into her arms and hugged him. "If you find you're not able to build me a house, don't worry. I've lived in cramped apartments all my life."
Ron remembered those words after he turned 21. He saw no prospects of ever building her any kind of house. He had no profession. He had no job. He was married, and Karen, his wife, was expecting her second child. He remembered his words because his mother in her tiny apartment was begging him to come live with her.
All day Wednesday he walked the streets looking for something, anything, to earn rent money. On his way home he passed a church holding midweek services. He found the members eating supper in the fellowship hall prior to services there. He sat on a back table, not getting food.
A young man came to him. "Come sit with us and have something to eat," he offered.
"I don't have any money," murmured Ron quietly.
"This is a covered dish meal," said the man. "You don't have to pay."
Ron sat at the table with the young man. He discovered the man was the group's pastor. On discovering Ron's situation, the pastor insisted he take a meal to his wife and child as well.
The pastor's message that evening was titled "When a Tent Is Enough." He pointed out that although David believed he was doing something for God, God was quite able to care for God's ownself… and David too.
The next day Ron went to see his mother. "Mother," he said, "if I accept your offer to stay with you until I get on my feet, can you wait just a little longer for me to build you that larger house?"
"If I have grandchildren living with me," said Myrtle, "my neighbors will burn with envy." They chuckled together.
But Ron was thinking about a large lot the pastor said he could have if he would plant a garden and provide vegetables for the needy. It was plenty large enough for a garden -- and a large house too.
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.
Out of Darkness
by C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 2:11-22
I spent some time in Africa. I was young -- the kind of young that is still impressed in the open-mouthed, eyes-wide, stand-still-and-stare way. I lived in a monastery out beyond the end of the bus lines in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. We got to know a lot of people -- where they lived, by name, who they were. It was there I first ran into paganism. It stopped me as cold as seeing my first pack of hyenas roaming around outside the walls of the compound. The thing that blew my mind about the worship of small gods was the terror of the worshiper. These folks lived defensively. The gods were their enemies -- very, very powerful enemies, bullies that rolled over them like a motorcycle gang over children in a playground. If these powerful beings noticed you it was not a good thing. The only reason you worshiped was to get on their good side. It was no guarantee they'd be nice to you. Gods have bad hair days. But when and if you came to their attention, maybe, if you shed some blood and offered some sacrifice, maybe, just maybe they wouldn't squash you like the bug you were to them.
These folk saw young Americans as allies of another god. The guys in the black dresses, the Christian monks were magicians. They had given their lives to be servants of this Christian god. He wasn't very nice. No god was. But he seemed to be very powerful… and we young Americans were allies of these men in black. We were living proof of the power of this not very nice god. Look how big we were, almost six feet tall, though we were considered barbarians, uncouth at best.
I spoke one day to a woman we were acquainted with who knew enough English and some Italian words to communicate when assisted by the high art of charades. I wondered why she didn't consider worshiping the Christian god if He was so powerful. Her eyes got big and she shook her head very slowly, hunching and looking over her shoulder. She leaned forward and whispered to me, "They listen. They will take my children." She cried and then told me she would live. "Each day without death is life."
I still have dreams about her, hunched and whispering, "alienated… strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world."
We have a gift. Too often we forget. We forget about the covenants of promise sealed in God's blood, not curses sealed in ours. Thanks be to God. Amen.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Dividing Walls
by Larry Winebrenner
Ephesians 2:11-22
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.
-- Ephesians 2:19
Joanna stood outside the church, looking at the signboard with the title of the day's message: "Tumbling Walls." She knew about Joshua and Jericho, but the scripture listed with the sermon title was Ephesians 2:11-22.
She knew about walls. People built walls to keep others out -- not just the Chinese with their Great Wall, nor even the East Germans. Their Berlin wall went beyond keeping others out. It was the pinnacle of "walls of separation."
But walls didn't have to be stone and mortar. Hers weren't. She began building her wall as a child when she heard her parents screaming at each other. She firmed it up at 13 when her mother ran off with a traveling salesman and left her stranded with a petulant father.
She was disappointed in love at an early age, and was betrayed by her best friend when she was a junior in high school. By the time she finished high school her wall was impregnable. No one would ever hurt her again.
So why was she standing in front of this church? A whole hour before services began yet. Was it loneliness? Unrecognized hope? Curiosity? She had seen that title every time this week she walked past the church to the bus stop.
She felt stupid. What was she doing here? She turned to go home. The sudden move bumped her into another woman.
"I'm so sorry," the woman told Joanna. "I'm late for the discussion group and those hogs scoff down all the best filled doughnuts if you're not there to get one. You looking for the discussion group?"
"Uh… well, yes," said Joanna, not knowing why she lied.
"I'm Marianna," said the woman, grabbing her arm and literally dragging her along. "You can help me protect the doughnuts."
There were plenty of filled doughnuts, even at the end of the class. Joanna was surprised at how well she was received. No big to-do, just a bunch of "Welcome" and "Glad to have ya" comments. Several invited her to return the next Sunday.
One asked, "Do you sing? We need some more choir members."
The experience was a little frightening. Joanna thought she felt a little crack starting in her wall. Maybe she'd better not return.
As she thought this, Marianna grabbed her arm. "Come with me or they might make you help clean up the coffee mess."
"Oh, I don't mind helping," Joanna replied. "Besides, it's not such a mess."
Marianna laughed.
"I like you," she said. "You're going to be my new best friend. My other best friend just got married and moved to Denver." She said "Denver" as if it were on another planet. Before Joanna could disentangle herself from Marianna, the other woman dragged her toward the sanctuary.
"Coffee mess is what we call the refreshment area. Did you notice we have tea and hot chocolate, too? I'll tell you more about our class when we have lunch together after church."
Before Joanna could answer, an usher placed a bulletin in her hand and a little folder telling newcomers about the church. She remembered a line from a Robert Frost poem: "Something there is that doesn't like a wall." That's true, thought Joanna as she also wondered what she should wear next Sunday.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
Living with Pain
by C. David McKirachan
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
I grew up in the manse -- my father was a preacher and a pastor. My brother went the same way. You'd think after all that genetic and experiential momentum plus a wonderful seminary education (go SFTS), I would have been prepared for just about anything. But I'll tell you right here, I wasn't ready for the pain.
The pain of young people, trapped in bodies they don't recognize, struggling to be individuals, to be adult, to be successful while they are desperate to be loved and accepted and respected while all those things conflict. Whew.
The pain of married couples who start out with such high hopes and then run into the quiet isolation and desperate anger and overwhelming fatigue of family life.
The pain of lonely old age, when valuable people find themselves entrapped by limitation and hopelessness and marginalization.
My first church was in the inner city. All those people needing so many different things -- coming to the sanctuary, the safe place, the church, to me, wanting something, they didn't even know what.
Sometimes they curled up and whimpered, sometimes they attacked, sometimes they put on a good show, sometimes they medicated themselves, but they were all in pain, all in need, all like sheep without a shepherd. And I? I was a kid -- a kid with too much empathy for my own good. I tried, but I always felt like a failure. There was never enough… and so often they didn't even want what I knew how to give. Whew.
I still feel their pain, these people given to me, trusting me, trusting the church to touch them in their pain, to heal them, to give them something that is more important than all the tawdry promises that have let them down. I still feel their pain, but I don't bleed like I used to. They've taught me -- all these desperate people taught me.
They taught me that the only hope any of us have is not in the capability or strength of any of us. There are no solutions to our pain. But there is the miracle of compassion. There are people who care, who appreciate, who are willing to stand beside us and value us, even in our brokenness.
I wonder sometimes how Jesus put up with it. He could heal. He could cast out demons. He held the way, the truth, and the life in his bones. But he could only do so much -- even with all that power and wisdom and perspective, he was limited in what he could accomplish. But he had compassion. It changed their pain, and I'm sure his as well. I hope so. It's a wonderful gift. It changes our pain into glory. Whew.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**************
StoryShare, July 19, 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
"Housing Crisis" by John Smylie
"When a Tent Is Enough" by Larry Winebrenner
"Out of Darkness" by C. David McKirachan
"Dividing Walls" by Larry Winebrenner
"Living with Pain" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Having a home is one of the most important things in our lives -- it's not merely the roof over our heads, it's also the place where we can find rest and sanctuary from the world. In this week's StoryShare, John Smiley recounts the experience of the first home he owned… and compares it with David's desire to build a home for the Lord. Smiley wonders if the desire to have a home is more of a human conceit and concludes that God is not tied down to any particular place. Larry Winebrenner takes a different approach to this scripture, spinning a tale about a man who desperately wants to build a home for his mother. He also shares a story illustrating how reaching out to visitors can break down the walls separating us. David McKirachan contributes a pair of personal essays -- one on his sobering experience in Ethiopia with natives who live in fear of God, and another on the deep pain we all live with… and how, even though there are no easy answers, Jesus reaches out to bring healing.
* * * * * * * * *
Housing Crisis
by John Smylie
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
How blessed I am to be able to remember purchasing my first home. So many people around the world have never had an opportunity to own a home. My wife and I had two small children, the second of whom was born deaf, and living in a busy part of town with a little boy who was adept at breaking locks and getting through barriers became a real problem. One day as a three-year-old he managed to get off the back porch of the place we were renting, remove the lock on the gate keeping him in the area where he was intended to be, and then he climbed down the stairs, up the driveway, and crossed a very busy road so he could get to the grocery store across the street and into the candy aisle. A stranger found him and somehow found us as well.
This escape provided for us a housing crisis. We realized we needed to move to a safer environment as we realized our son, our youngest child, might not make it where we were; he could very easily have been killed by a car. He was too adventuresome, and adding to that his hearing impairment made him more oblivious to the dangers in his environment than he might have been had he been able to hear. When he was missing or even moving toward danger we couldn't simply shout after him; one of us needed to be with him every moment in order to keep him safe. The experience of his great escape led us to a conversation with friends who helped us reason through the challenge we were facing. We concluded that we must move to a safer place -- and this led us to search for our first home.
Exacerbating the problem, I had no credit rating. I had always paid for everything with cash. It just seemed more responsible to me to save my money before I purchased a product like a car or even an education. I never wanted to be in debt, so I never borrowed money; I was used to being poor and going without. During this hour of my need no bank would give me a loan because I didn't have a credit rating, having never borrowed money. I couldn't even get a credit card. I had to ask my parents if they would co-sign a mortgage with me -- which was a moment for me to swallow my pride in order to take care of my children.
King David obviously feels a little guilty about living in his house. Throughout his life he has come to rely on the Lord. As a child he lived under the stars -- the youngest brother -- a little shepherd who became a courageous warrior and leader of his people. David comes from humble beginnings and he is confronted with the appearance of wealth. He seems to be experiencing what may be described as guilt: "See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent." This at first seems like a good intention, to want to let God be as blessed as we are -- but perhaps this is wrong thinking. God as an afterthought is always wrong thinking. That's why we're encouraged to give the tithe as the first fruit of our labors. Giving God the leftovers is never an honor to God. Giving God the leftovers is like having a wonderful roast with friends and then giving the bone to the dog. Now, I know that "God" is "dog" spelled backward -- but God does not want our leftovers. God wants the first fruit of our labors.
The house we wound up buying was in Sussex County, New Jersey, in a town called High Point. It was a home we could afford off a dirt road, with a pond behind us and a pond across the street. There may have been three or four cars per day that went up the dirt road and after a while I came to know all of them. It was a safe environment and there were a few other children living nearby, and we were very blessed to be able to live there. The house was an old converted barn -- long and narrow with three floors. The lowest floor, even though it was finished, had rooms that were less than 6 feet tall -- and being 6'3" I had to bend over to walk through them.
God at first seems a bit offended to be offered a house by David. I think the central issue is the fact that it appears to be an afterthought for David to build a house for God, but I also think that the risk of a house for God is that the people of God may be tempted to make their God smaller -- containing him within the four walls of the temple. Years ago when the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark came out, it displayed a bit of bad theology. Now I don't want to go into a full critique of the movie, but the idea that the power of God was inside a box was and is a real problem. The climax of the movie has the box being opened and God is let out -- and the power of God swoops through the evildoers and destroys them. The big problem here is putting God inside a box -- the Ark of the Covenant really was a kind of portable throne. God was always outside the box.
Whenever we try to contain God... whenever we attempt to limit God… whenever we want to control God, we are at risk. As C.S. Lewis describes in the Chronicles of Narnia, the central figure -- the lion named Aslan -- is not a tame lion. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God and father of our Lord Jesus Christ, is not a tame God. God is not a God who either tolerates our leftovers or is a God who will allow himself to be boxed in.
When we purchased our home in Sussex County, New Jersey, we felt very blessed. My hunch is that God had no hard feelings toward David living in the house of cedar -- why would God not want David to be blessed! But when we begin to think of ourselves as having to take care of God, we are putting ourselves in the position of thinking we are above God -- and that's always a problem.
The writer of second Samuel seems to be juggling a bit himself, for he concludes this passage with God wanting a house to be built by one of David's sons. Before he gets to that point, he makes it very clear that God is not to be contained. God is a God of the outdoors… God is a God on the move, not to be tied down to a particular place... God is a God of freedom.
Perhaps the need for temples and churches and sanctuaries is a more human need than a holy need. Perhaps God tolerates this human need to build temples because human beings need things and places to remind us of that which we cannot touch or see. That's why we have the sacraments -- outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual graces and truths. The temple, churches, and sanctuaries are like sacraments designed to remind human beings of the glory of God. Perhaps God allows these places to be built to help us draw close to him. It is absurd for us to think that God only dwells within the holy places set aside by us for him. When we think about it, the truth is that God has built us a home and it is God who desires us to be stewards of creation.
When it was time to move from that home in High Point, New Jersey, I was happy to sell it but sad to leave it. Perhaps today we may remember to offer God our first fruits and give the leftovers to our dogs. Perhaps today we will remember that God creates all things including us, and our responsibility is not to take care of God but to thank and praise him for the homes and blessings that we have been given -- and especially this fragile Earth, our island home.
God is on the move -- God will not be tied down -- and better than any walls of any synagogue, sanctuary, church, or temple is the open heart of a believer ready to welcome the holy who cannot be contained.
John Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
When a Tent Is Enough
by Larry Winebrenner
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Now when the king was settled in his house, and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him, the king said to the prophet Nathan, "See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent."
-- 2 Samuel 7:1-2
Ron told his mother Myrtle, "Some day I'm going to build you a house that will make your neighbors burn with envy."
He said it the day she lost her cool. She was trying to put up groceries in the tiny cabinets over the sink. A whole stack of cans of soup tumbled into her sink and dishpan. Several of her favorite dishes were broken.
"There's never enough room!" she screamed. "There's not enough room in the closets for clothes. There's not enough room in the cupboards for food. There's not even enough room for a dirty clothes hamper." Myrtle sat at the kitchen table and cried.
Ron walked over to her. He put his arms around her and hugged her. He said, "Some day I'm going to build you a house that will make your neighbors burn with envy."
She wiped away a tear and laughed a bit nervously. "Where did a 7-year-old boy like you learn a phrase like that?" she asked. "Do you know what it means to burn with envy?"
"Yes ma'am," said Ron. "I saw it in a movie. The man told his wife that one day he'd buy her a car that would make the neighbors burn with envy. She had an old rattletrap. That's what she called it. At the end of the movie the old rattletrap was towed away and a beautiful big car was driven into the driveway. She told her husband, 'I'm going to miss the old heap.' And all the women in the neighborhood came over to look at her car. And you could tell they were real jealous. And that's what 'burn with envy' means."
Myrtle took Ron into her arms and hugged him. "If you find you're not able to build me a house, don't worry. I've lived in cramped apartments all my life."
Ron remembered those words after he turned 21. He saw no prospects of ever building her any kind of house. He had no profession. He had no job. He was married, and Karen, his wife, was expecting her second child. He remembered his words because his mother in her tiny apartment was begging him to come live with her.
All day Wednesday he walked the streets looking for something, anything, to earn rent money. On his way home he passed a church holding midweek services. He found the members eating supper in the fellowship hall prior to services there. He sat on a back table, not getting food.
A young man came to him. "Come sit with us and have something to eat," he offered.
"I don't have any money," murmured Ron quietly.
"This is a covered dish meal," said the man. "You don't have to pay."
Ron sat at the table with the young man. He discovered the man was the group's pastor. On discovering Ron's situation, the pastor insisted he take a meal to his wife and child as well.
The pastor's message that evening was titled "When a Tent Is Enough." He pointed out that although David believed he was doing something for God, God was quite able to care for God's ownself… and David too.
The next day Ron went to see his mother. "Mother," he said, "if I accept your offer to stay with you until I get on my feet, can you wait just a little longer for me to build you that larger house?"
"If I have grandchildren living with me," said Myrtle, "my neighbors will burn with envy." They chuckled together.
But Ron was thinking about a large lot the pastor said he could have if he would plant a garden and provide vegetables for the needy. It was plenty large enough for a garden -- and a large house too.
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.
Out of Darkness
by C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 2:11-22
I spent some time in Africa. I was young -- the kind of young that is still impressed in the open-mouthed, eyes-wide, stand-still-and-stare way. I lived in a monastery out beyond the end of the bus lines in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. We got to know a lot of people -- where they lived, by name, who they were. It was there I first ran into paganism. It stopped me as cold as seeing my first pack of hyenas roaming around outside the walls of the compound. The thing that blew my mind about the worship of small gods was the terror of the worshiper. These folks lived defensively. The gods were their enemies -- very, very powerful enemies, bullies that rolled over them like a motorcycle gang over children in a playground. If these powerful beings noticed you it was not a good thing. The only reason you worshiped was to get on their good side. It was no guarantee they'd be nice to you. Gods have bad hair days. But when and if you came to their attention, maybe, if you shed some blood and offered some sacrifice, maybe, just maybe they wouldn't squash you like the bug you were to them.
These folk saw young Americans as allies of another god. The guys in the black dresses, the Christian monks were magicians. They had given their lives to be servants of this Christian god. He wasn't very nice. No god was. But he seemed to be very powerful… and we young Americans were allies of these men in black. We were living proof of the power of this not very nice god. Look how big we were, almost six feet tall, though we were considered barbarians, uncouth at best.
I spoke one day to a woman we were acquainted with who knew enough English and some Italian words to communicate when assisted by the high art of charades. I wondered why she didn't consider worshiping the Christian god if He was so powerful. Her eyes got big and she shook her head very slowly, hunching and looking over her shoulder. She leaned forward and whispered to me, "They listen. They will take my children." She cried and then told me she would live. "Each day without death is life."
I still have dreams about her, hunched and whispering, "alienated… strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world."
We have a gift. Too often we forget. We forget about the covenants of promise sealed in God's blood, not curses sealed in ours. Thanks be to God. Amen.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Dividing Walls
by Larry Winebrenner
Ephesians 2:11-22
So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.
-- Ephesians 2:19
Joanna stood outside the church, looking at the signboard with the title of the day's message: "Tumbling Walls." She knew about Joshua and Jericho, but the scripture listed with the sermon title was Ephesians 2:11-22.
She knew about walls. People built walls to keep others out -- not just the Chinese with their Great Wall, nor even the East Germans. Their Berlin wall went beyond keeping others out. It was the pinnacle of "walls of separation."
But walls didn't have to be stone and mortar. Hers weren't. She began building her wall as a child when she heard her parents screaming at each other. She firmed it up at 13 when her mother ran off with a traveling salesman and left her stranded with a petulant father.
She was disappointed in love at an early age, and was betrayed by her best friend when she was a junior in high school. By the time she finished high school her wall was impregnable. No one would ever hurt her again.
So why was she standing in front of this church? A whole hour before services began yet. Was it loneliness? Unrecognized hope? Curiosity? She had seen that title every time this week she walked past the church to the bus stop.
She felt stupid. What was she doing here? She turned to go home. The sudden move bumped her into another woman.
"I'm so sorry," the woman told Joanna. "I'm late for the discussion group and those hogs scoff down all the best filled doughnuts if you're not there to get one. You looking for the discussion group?"
"Uh… well, yes," said Joanna, not knowing why she lied.
"I'm Marianna," said the woman, grabbing her arm and literally dragging her along. "You can help me protect the doughnuts."
There were plenty of filled doughnuts, even at the end of the class. Joanna was surprised at how well she was received. No big to-do, just a bunch of "Welcome" and "Glad to have ya" comments. Several invited her to return the next Sunday.
One asked, "Do you sing? We need some more choir members."
The experience was a little frightening. Joanna thought she felt a little crack starting in her wall. Maybe she'd better not return.
As she thought this, Marianna grabbed her arm. "Come with me or they might make you help clean up the coffee mess."
"Oh, I don't mind helping," Joanna replied. "Besides, it's not such a mess."
Marianna laughed.
"I like you," she said. "You're going to be my new best friend. My other best friend just got married and moved to Denver." She said "Denver" as if it were on another planet. Before Joanna could disentangle herself from Marianna, the other woman dragged her toward the sanctuary.
"Coffee mess is what we call the refreshment area. Did you notice we have tea and hot chocolate, too? I'll tell you more about our class when we have lunch together after church."
Before Joanna could answer, an usher placed a bulletin in her hand and a little folder telling newcomers about the church. She remembered a line from a Robert Frost poem: "Something there is that doesn't like a wall." That's true, thought Joanna as she also wondered what she should wear next Sunday.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
Living with Pain
by C. David McKirachan
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
I grew up in the manse -- my father was a preacher and a pastor. My brother went the same way. You'd think after all that genetic and experiential momentum plus a wonderful seminary education (go SFTS), I would have been prepared for just about anything. But I'll tell you right here, I wasn't ready for the pain.
The pain of young people, trapped in bodies they don't recognize, struggling to be individuals, to be adult, to be successful while they are desperate to be loved and accepted and respected while all those things conflict. Whew.
The pain of married couples who start out with such high hopes and then run into the quiet isolation and desperate anger and overwhelming fatigue of family life.
The pain of lonely old age, when valuable people find themselves entrapped by limitation and hopelessness and marginalization.
My first church was in the inner city. All those people needing so many different things -- coming to the sanctuary, the safe place, the church, to me, wanting something, they didn't even know what.
Sometimes they curled up and whimpered, sometimes they attacked, sometimes they put on a good show, sometimes they medicated themselves, but they were all in pain, all in need, all like sheep without a shepherd. And I? I was a kid -- a kid with too much empathy for my own good. I tried, but I always felt like a failure. There was never enough… and so often they didn't even want what I knew how to give. Whew.
I still feel their pain, these people given to me, trusting me, trusting the church to touch them in their pain, to heal them, to give them something that is more important than all the tawdry promises that have let them down. I still feel their pain, but I don't bleed like I used to. They've taught me -- all these desperate people taught me.
They taught me that the only hope any of us have is not in the capability or strength of any of us. There are no solutions to our pain. But there is the miracle of compassion. There are people who care, who appreciate, who are willing to stand beside us and value us, even in our brokenness.
I wonder sometimes how Jesus put up with it. He could heal. He could cast out demons. He held the way, the truth, and the life in his bones. But he could only do so much -- even with all that power and wisdom and perspective, he was limited in what he could accomplish. But he had compassion. It changed their pain, and I'm sure his as well. I hope so. It's a wonderful gift. It changes our pain into glory. Whew.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**************
StoryShare, July 19, 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.
