Incarnation
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Regrets" by Keith Hewitt
"Incarnation" by C. David McKirachan
"A Few Words from Simon Peter" by Sandra Herrmann
"The Burial of Jesus" by Sandra Herrmann
"Back from the Dead" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * * *
Regrets
by Keith Hewitt
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
The old man looked up at the sun, just now peeking above the bottom of the cell window, high on the wall. "Do you know what I regret most?" he said wistfully.
The old man in the cell next to him grunted, did not move. "That argument we had in Antioch?"
Paul smiled, shook his head. "No. Well, yes -- but we both know I was right. I regret that it became an angry discussion, but there were things that needed to be said."
Peter stretched his back, opened his arms a bit causing the chains to rattle, let his head tilt back and rest on the cold stone wall of his cell. "Someone once told me that there is nothing wrong with having an unspoken thought. In fact, sometimes it can be a good thing."
Paul turned, looked through the iron bars at the next cell. "Thomas? That sounds like something he might say."
Peter smiled faintly. "Jesus. It was Jesus who told me that, many years ago. But I still remember it." He rolled his head to one side and looked through the bars. "I don't know if you know this, but I had sort of a reputation for being quick to speak -- but not necessarily quick to think. A bad combination."
"So I've heard," Paul said, reflecting the smile before he sighed. "But you have touched on my regret."
"Not speaking? Or not thinking?" the old man jabbed gently, still smiling in the morning gloom that was their world.
"The time you spent with the Master," Paul said with quiet dignity, ignoring the jabs of his companion. "Yes, he has come to me -- and my heart still aches at the thought that of all people, he came to me, after all I had done to his followers. But it's not like being with him there, on the road, while he was teaching. It must have been glorious."
Peter nodded, rolled his head back so he was facing forward, his eyes fixed on something far beyond the stone walls and iron bars. "It was. It was hard, at first, but there was something special about being there -- watching him preach to the crowds... just a few people, at first, and then more and more. We learned so much, the other disciples and me. We were at the top of the world, that last time... the last time he entered Jerusalem, before Passover... the crowds... the people and the palms..." He trailed off, still murmuring, but the words now submerged in memories.
"I wish I had been there that night -- you know, before he was betrayed," Paul said after a few moments. "That's what I truly regret. That last meal you shared, when the Master instituted communion. He taught me about it, helped me to teach it, but I still wasn't there when it actually happened. I wasn't there to hear the words, and see his face, to feel the love."
Peter looked at him. "That's your greatest regret?"
Paul nodded.
"That you didn't share communion with us, with Jesus?"
His companion nodded again.
Peter shook his head, causing the iron collar around his neck to shift against chafed skin, and he winced. "You're a foolish old man, Paul. A foolish old man."
"I don't disagree -- but why?"
"Because you teach, but you don't understand. Have you never had communion with our brothers and sisters?"
"Of course. I do it as often as I can -- did, anyway," he corrected. It had been a while, now.
"Then you have celebrated communion with our Master, and with me and all of the others who were there that night. It's not just about sharing the Master's teaching with your congregation, wherever you happen to be. It's not just a means of God's grace falling upon you. It's a connection -- by that one act, that one blessed act, I believe we are all somehow joined together with all the saints who have ever celebrated communion, and all the saints who ever will."
Peter struggled to his feet, walked to the bars between their cells; Paul moved closer, as well. They stood face-to-face, and Peter said softly, "That night, Jesus was asking you to remember, too."
Paul frowned. "But that can't be."
Peter shook his head, brushed off the objection. "I was there. I saw his eyes. I didn't understand, then, but I understand now. We were all there in that one moment -- across the ages, and down through time. We were all there." As he trailed off once more, they both remembered the Master's words, murmured them aloud.
And could it be --? The room seemed suddenly crowded...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Incarnation
by C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
I was in college when I read Ezra Pound's "Ballad of the Goodly Fere." I was a typical sophomore, a wise fool, full of myself, and hell bent to let the world know that I was my own person. I was also struggling to be a man. So much of what I was spouting and considering world-shattering truths had to do with this struggle and my childish answers. I felt called to confront anything that had come from others. The teachings of faith in a loving God were namby pamby stories for those who didn't have the guts to stand up to the establishment and tell the truth.
But this poem slammed into my presuppositions like a sledge, cracking the green cement of my creations. Pound let the Christ be a man. Strength and power, not miraculous vibrations on which He floats above all human issues, strength and power that plants Him in the middle of our struggle and our living.
I cried. I realized I'd done my parents a disservice. But more importantly, I realized I'd done Him, the Lord a disservice. I'd let the teachings be smothered by the teachers. I'd missed Him. It had been a while since I prayed. But the prayers that came from me then were more like a child's prayers, frank, open, and uncluttered. God was suddenly grounded, incarnate, specific in a very personal way.
I've been accused of being overly focused on the incarnate God. I won't fight with that because I've never been sure what an appropriate balance should look like. But this I know: When we face the passion of our Lord, I struggle. How do you let a friend go to the cross? He is my Lord. And so, I follow Him.
I include a few verses from Pound's poem. I don't know how balanced it is, but I hope it speaks to you.
When they came wi' a host to take Our Man
His smile was good to see,
"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.
Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine
When we last made company,
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere
But a man o' men was he.
A son of God was the Goodly Fere
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.
A master of men was the Goodly Fere,
A mate of the wind and sea,
If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.
I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb
Sin' they nailed him to the tree.
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).
A Few Words from Simon Peter
by Sandra Herrmann
Ave. My name is Simon Peter -- Simon to my Jewish family and friends. Peter to my brothers and sisters in the way of Christ. Peter the fisherman to the public who followed after Jesus everywhere he went.
That business of two names is pretty much the story of my life. Men in my family are all fishermen. I was out in the boat with my father and uncles and brothers as soon as I was six. I couldn't fish, of course, the nets were too heavy for any one man, let alone a child. My job was to clean out the fish after my older brother cut them open. I had to pull the innards out and put them in a bucket. It was a hard, dangerous life, but I loved it. I loved the smell of the sea, the roll of the boat on the waves, and the feel of the wood of the boat itself. The smell of the buckets I could do without.
My life was a good one. My brother Andrew and I had charge of one of Father's boats, and James and John -- our cousins -- had the other. Father ran every aspect of the business. Father had always been loud, shouting with laughter and even louder in anger. But he had to be able to make his voice heard over the winds and flapping sails.
Of course, we were all loud! The wind in our ears all the time made us all a little hard of hearing. So we all accepted Father's shouting, and shouted back at him. In his old age, he became more demanding, too, because he hated not being strong enough to pull the nets anymore. I kept reminding the others that he was frustrated, that's all.
Jesus loved my dad. He gave him a nickname: "Thunder throat." And Jesus called my brothers and cousins "Sons of Thunder." And me, well, my father had named me Simon, but Jesus named me Peter: The Rock. [Stand up straighter and taller. You're proud of this new name.]
My brothers teased me endlessly about Jesus' name for me. Said he gave me that name because that's how hard my head was! We really had a kind of rough humor, but Jesus would clap us on the shoulders and laugh along with us.
Then there was a turn in our relationship. Jesus was down at the waterfront and had started a conversation that drew in about fifty or so men who worked along the docks or in the market stalls. They were all pushing for a better view of him as he taught, and it was beginning to get a little out of hand. Jesus kept backing toward the water and some of his students had formed a ring around him so he wouldn't get hurt. Jesus turned and saw me standing in my boat, so he climbed aboard and asked me to push out from the shore a bit.
It was a clever idea. Those listening were not about to wade into the Sea of Galilee, so they sat down on the hard-packed beach and order was restored.
Jesus went on teaching. He was a powerful speaker. He told stories and related them to scripture. Those stories made a man think. Andrew and I sat down to listen too. Well, really, we had little else to do. We'd fished all night and had netted fewer than a dozen fish.
When Jesus was done, he said a prayer over the crowd and dismissed them. Then he turned to me and said, "Push out a little further from shore. I think I owe you for the use of your boat." Andrew started to say he owed us nothing, but I said, "It doesn't matter, Rabbi. We fished all night and got nothing." Jesus just smiled a little and said, "Let down your nets to the west, there." I shrugged. Jesus knew nothing about fishing, but to humor him, Andrew and I cast our net wide.
We nearly had a heart attack each when we tried to drag the net back in! It was full of HUGE fish! There were so many, we could feel the strain on the nets and before we knew it, one of the lines snapped! I waved frantically to James and John to bring the other boat, and they wasted no time, but came alongside us. It took all four of us to dump our catch into first one boat and then the other. When we counted them back on shore, we had over a 150 fish, which was unheard of.
I turned and looked at Jesus. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time. His face positively glowed, and I became afraid. I dropped to my knees and said, "Lord, get out of my boat. I'm a simple man, of rough speech, and you are not at all what I thought."
Jesus looked at me for a long moment, his head to one side, before he said, "Leave your boats, boys. I'm going to make you fishermen fishers of men." (Jesus loved a good pun.) We did just as he said, leaving our nets and sails and selling off the enormous catch, which would keep Father and Mother well off for long enough to hire replacements. He headed inland and so did we.
The things we saw over the next three years were amazing. If I hadn't seen Jesus heal people everywhere, I wouldn't believe the stories myself. Tender with children, harsh on the proud, and he had healing in his hands. James, John, and I were the privileged inner circle, welcome to every event in Jesus' life.
We were in the house when Jesus brought the daughter of a synagogue leader back from the dead. Oh, he explained it away by saying the girl wasn't dead, just sleeping. But among the mourners were those who had heard her rasping breath stop, and they told the real story all over the neighborhood. But by then our little band had moved on.
Jesus had taught us how to do the same. Seriously! He taught us how to pray, how to lay our hands on the sick, even how to cast out demons using his name! We had to learn that some demons would leave at once, but the more powerful ones required prayer and fasting so that God's Spirit could move through us and into the possessed, driving the demon out of the sufferer and back to the Pit. It was exciting stuff. But there were problems too.
James and John had an idea that Jesus was going to be an earthly ruler, and so they were constantly looking for ways to earn points with Jesus. Their mother, my father's sister, even came to Jesus to ask that her two boys be seated next to him when his kingdom was established! I was so embarrassed that I wouldn't talk to them for a week.
It seemed to me that they were all missing who and what Jesus was! One evening, for example, Jesus told us to set sail for Capernaum. He was going into the hills to pray and would see us later. We were used to this kind of thing. Jesus had taught us that we all need some time away from everything so we might hear God's voice more clearly. So we set sail.
In the middle of the night, the sea was a bit rough and the wind had come up. We were all awake, keeping the sails stiff and the boat upright, when Judas gave a shout and pointed off the port side. There was a figure, walking on the waves! Impossible! I peered through the dark, seeing a faint glow where the figure was moving. The others were all shouting that it was surely a ghost, when the figure waved at us and yelled, "Don't be afraid. It's just me!"
We were all taken aback. I shouted back, "If it's really you, Lord, tell me to walk to you on the water too!" And he did. So, I threw a leg over the side of the boat and started walking toward him. I couldn't believe it! It was a bit like walking on wet sand. My feet pressed into the waves, and yet, there I was, walking toward Jesus. But then a larger wave splashed up to my neck, I panicked. As I panicked, I felt myself slipping into the sea with the wave and had to yell for help! Jesus reached down to me and grasped my hand, pulling me back on top of the water. "Oh, Peter!" he said, shaking his head. "You were doing it. Why did you panic?" I couldn't explain it at all, but fishermen aren't swimmers. We know we have to stay in the boat. I hung my head.
Jesus slapped me on the back and said, "Don't worry about it, Peter, it's natural to question miracles. God knows, I do." And he laughed as we got back in the boat.
My fellow disciples loved to make fun of my failures. Jesus said it was because, as much as they loved me and wanted to serve God, they were a bit jealous of our close relationship. But there was a moment when I wondered if I had just blown that closeness.
It was the week that Jesus gave us our first glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. As we were traveling, Jesus asked us what people were saying about him. We told him that most people thought he was one of the prophets come back, maybe even Elijah.
Then Jesus asked a second question: "Who do you say I am?"
I just blurted out, "You are the Anointed One [Messiah]. You are the son of the living God." Jesus was so pleased! He told us that his entire kingdom was going to be based on the trust that I had just expressed. Wow! But then Jesus started talking about going to Jerusalem -- not a good idea at all, as far as I was concerned -- and that he would be arrested and put to death. I couldn't stand it. He was being so negative. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to one side. Softly but intently, I said, "God forbid, Lord! This is not the way to go!"
I don't know what I thought he would do when I said this, but what he did say was horrible: "Get behind me, Satan! You are a temptation to me when you talk this way, Peter. I am here to do the will of him who sent me, but you want me to turn away from that call." I felt awful. I nearly burst into tears. I was terrified he would actually die. And then what would happen to our people? He had yet to set up his kingdom. If he died now, none of it would come to pass. What could he be thinking? Had I lost my position with him? I was in misery.
This is how Jesus works: He left most of the disciples behind and took James, John, and I to the top of a high mountain. When we arrived, Jesus suddenly began to glow, more brightly than the sun. He was joined in an instant by two other figures. Somehow, we knew that the one on his right was Moses and the other Elijah. So that ended any thought that he was either of them come back to earth. They stayed for a long time, talking about Jesus' mission on earth, and other things I didn't understand. It was all so brilliantly lit that the three of us pressed our eyes shut and our foreheads to the dirt.
Just as suddenly, it was quiet and Jesus was touching us, waking us from our trances. I remember saying something about setting up a memorial on that spot, maybe three shelters, one for Moses, one for Elijah, and one for him. Jesus didn't even act as though he had heard my foolish prattle, for which I am grateful. Even more, I was grateful for the privilege to be there, especially after he had been so angry with me.
And that brings me to my last encounter with Jesus: The night he was arrested -- just as he had said. He was tried and condemned by night, against the law of the Lord -- just as he had foretold. I failed him, again, as he had foretold.
I had taken advantage of the relationship one of our women disciples had with Herod's household so I could get into the area where he was being tried. I don't know what I was thinking. Nothing I could do would change a thing, and I soon discovered I had put myself in grave danger. In my fear, I denied that I had ever known him! I was so ashamed! I did break down and cry.
But even then, Jesus forgave me and made me more than I ever could have thought. Three days after he had been taken down from the cross and put in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, his mother, Mary Magdalene, and Joanna came to us and told us he was alive! I ran to the tomb, even outrunning John, only to find the tomb empty. I didn't know what to make of it and neither did anyone else.
We were all sitting around, feeling sorry for ourselves. I was getting weary of doing nothing. I started pacing, and then I said, "I'm going fishing. Anybody want to come?" James, John, and Andrew stood up at once and soon the rest of the eleven who were left came along with me.
I've never pretended to be the best disciple or the smartest or the most faithful. But I have come to understand that none of us measures up to what we hope we are. I have been forgiven by my Lord so many times, corrected so that I can tell others that it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done, God loves you more than you can know. I know this because Jesus came to that beach, right near where we were fishing. He called out and asked if we'd caught anything. No, we said, not a thing. He told us to drop our nets right next to the boat, and they filled immediately. I knew at once it was Jesus. This was how we met at the beginning! Him paying for the use of our boat, giving us a huge draft of fish! I grabbed my cloak and jumped into the water, slogging to the beach. And Jesus forgave me. Not just once, but three times he asked if I loved him and each time, he gave me my commission: "Feed my sheep." Three times. The number of times I had denied I knew him. Three times he put me back to work.
That's why I'm here today. Because my Lord forgave me, gave me work, restored my faith in myself, and assured me I would never be separated from him. And neither will you.
Peace be with you.
The Burial of Jesus
by Sandra Herrmann
John 18:1--19:42
1 My name is Joseph of Arimathea. I was on the Sanhedrin back in the days when Jesus of
2 Nazareth came to trial. And I have a few words to say about that awful day. Will you be willing
3 to hear me out?
4 First, I know that many of you stand in judgment of me because I didn't somehow spare
5 Jesus his suffering and death. I am not about to argue with you. Looking back, I do wonder
6 if I might have at least saved him from some of his suffering had I raised more questions that
7 night. Not that I didn't speak up. God knows I did! However, it became clear that any opposition to the
8 high priest and his circle was not being listened to. It seemed to me at the time that if we
9 weren't careful, all of us who were impressed with Jesus' teachings would wind up next to him
10 before Pilate.
11 Those were difficult days for being a Jew anyway. The Romans hated us all and would
12 have been glad to crucify all of the Jewish leadership. We were all troublemakers as far as Pilate
13 was concerned. Of course, it didn't help that there had been many uprisings led by would-be
14 messiahs over the past twenty years. Just a few years before Jesus rode into town, there had been
15 crosses from Jerusalem to the Damascus Road, each one holding a writhing, screaming follower
16 of one or another of these pretenders.
17 That was the difficulty, of course. How to tell a pretender from the real thing? As far as
18 Caiaphas was concerned, Jesus was just one of the many. "How could he be the anointed one if
19 he came from Nazareth? Search the scriptures! No prophet is foretold out of Galilee. How could
20 he be a prophet, coming from that nearly apostate region?"
21 That was true. Furthermore, no one knew for certain what house and lineage Jesus
22 had. His father Joseph claimed to be from the house of David the king, but there were stories
23 that his mother had been pregnant when Joseph married her. As we all know, there is no way
24 to know who a man's father is unless his mother was virgin when they came together. It was all
25 very complex.
26 Even so, there were many of us -- hundreds right there in Jerusalem, not to mention Syria,
27 Samaria, Decapolis, and Phoenicia and even points north from there -- who had come to believe,
28 or at least wonder, about this brash new prophet. He had thousands of miraculous healings to his
29 name, not to mention rumors of those he had raised from apparent death -- a synagogue president
30 here in Judea claimed that after his daughter had died in full view of the entire family, Jesus
31 came into her room and told her to wake up! Weird enough that he would say this. More
32 improbably yet, she woke up, got to her feet, and Jesus told them to get her something to eat.
33 Then there was the young man in Nain whose mother claimed they were carrying his body to the
34 family tomb when Jesus came alongside the bier and again "waked the dead." Finally, there
35 was the very strange case of Lazarus of Bethany, whose sisters had seen him into the family
36 grave three days before Jesus called him out of the cave.
37 Caiaphas disdained these stories, of course. Anyone with half a brain can tell the dead
38 from the sleeping. And Martha, Lazarus' sister, said herself that the body already could be
39 smelled even with the stone over the mouth of the cave. I had made the short trip to Bethany, and
40 no one could be more certain that they were telling the truth. If you had seen Lazarus, you
41 would know that he really did seem to be, as the popular saying is, "death warmed over." There is
42 yet the mark of death on him. His lips and fingernails are lavender in color.
43 So I put forward my objections. Jesus had assuredly not preached the overthrow of
44 Rome, even if he had a Zealot for a follower. Oh, you don't know about the Zealots? Well, they
45 are men (and even women!) who carried a dagger hidden in their cloaks, for the
46 purpose of stabbing a Roman soldier or sympathizer. Terrorists, they are. One of the few things
47 Caiaphas and I agree on is the need to take away those daggers.
48 Jesus did have an unfortunate habit of keeping company with the wrong sort of people.
49 But not just troublemakers like the Zealot. On the other hand, in fact, he had a tax collector or
50 two in his entourage. Levi and Zacchaeus, for two, had been tax collectors and not only renounced
51 their ways, they sold their ill-gotten gains and gave it away to all those from whom they had
52 collected above and beyond what Rome decreed. If you don't believe in any other miracle Jesus
53 is said to have performed, you have to admit that those two tax collectors impoverishing
54 themselves is miracle enough.
55 None of these arguments moved Caiaphas and his loyal followers. Jesus had no respect
56 for their authority, as any "good Jew" would. His attitude would soon bring the legions of Rome
57 down on us, he said. What he didn't say was that Jesus had demonstrated just how far the
58 temple authorities had strayed from the clear reading of scriptures. Jesus wasn't the only one
59 who found the bleating of sheep and the click of the abacus intrusive in the sacred courts.
60 So Jesus had to go, I was told. I finally hung my head in defeat. I watched him
61 dragged out by temple guards and handed over to the evil hands of Pilate.
62 Oh, I know, Pilate washed his hands in front of the people, and said he found no reason to
63 crucify him. But you have to know Pilate to know what was really going on there. This man is
64 one of the most superstitious people I have ever met. And a liar, a liar who thinks every Jew is
65 stupid. So on the one hand he demands Jesus tell him where he came from, afraid that maybe
66 Jesus really is a minor deity in a world he believes to be swarming with gods and goddesses,
67 nymphs, and satyrs. On the other hand, he really wants us to suffer. So how can he accomplish
68 both? Well, wash his hands, make the crowd take on the sin he is committing, and of course the
69 crowd took it on! With the priests chanting "We have no king but Caesar!" he condemns Jesus to
70 die. Now he can shrug and say, "Well, it was what the Jews wanted. What could I do?" The
71 sanctimonious phony. And the next thing we hear, he and Herod are suddenly great friends.
72 They deserve each other.
73 I went to Pilate, even so. I asked for Jesus' body before it was taken from the cross,
74 so it would not be thrown into Gehenna (the open, burning garbage dump outside of Jerusalem).
75 I played up to him, so that I could see to it that Jesus' body was not defiled. I have a tomb nearby
76 that hadn't been used yet. Jesus' body should not be defiled by being in an old tomb, unclean due
77 to the dust of former burials. Nicodemus helped me get the body and put it in the tomb with the
78 proper spices and ointment. The application of these has to wait until after the Passover supper,
79 because the servants who carried the body have no training in embalming rites, and we cannot
80 eat the Passover if we're defiled by touching the dead body. So we laid him down and sealed the
81 mouth of the tomb.
82 We are two sad men, Nicodemus and I. We kissed each other when it was all done and
83 are on our way to our separate homes for the sacred meal. We each had such high hopes! We
84 both thought that maybe Jesus really was the one foretold. But here I stand, and Jesus is dead.
85 Already, I miss his laughter. I will miss his tenderness with women and children, his
86 intellect, his ability to say "You have heard it said, but I say to you..." and then teach in such a
87 way that anyone could understand what he was saying. He said that God's love is wide and deep,
88 and we believed him.
89 So now I wonder... how could his loving papa (as he called God) stand by and watch?
90 What will be the end of this story? Another prophet, killed in Jerusalem? Dead and gone and
91 nothing changed? What will ever restore our hope?
The lines of this piece are numbered for ease in presenting it as a dramatic monologue. If you want to use this as a dramatic monologue, encourage the actor to use dramatic movements, such as looking to one side of the church, where Nicodemus might have stood a moment before, perhaps waving as though he can see him walking away.
When the actor reaches line number 82, he should pause for dramatic effect, perhaps shaking his head in sadness as he starts the line. When he finishes the speech, he should shuffle away slowly, shoulders bent.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Back from the Dead
by Frank Ramirez
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.
-- Psalm 118:17
Maybe merely being restored to life after having been left for dead is not the same as rising from the grave, but the story of Penelope Stout certainly calls to mind the miracle of Easter. Penelope was not only granted more life -- she lived that life to the fullest.
Before we tell the story, let's introduce the storyteller. Abraham Harley Cassel (1820-1908) of Harleysville, Pennsylvania, was one of the old Dunkers, one of the Pennsylvania Dutch, such as you might see driving a buggy through rural Lancaster or York counties today. Raised to farming, he had a hunger for books that was nearly starved by his father, who believed that the only result that could come from education was learning how to sin.
As a result Cassel, whose first language was German, attended school a total of less than six weeks. His first language was German. An older sister taught him English as well as reading and writing. As an adult Abraham Harley Cassel, though of simple means, amassed a library of over 50,000 books, manuscripts, and pamphlets.
Though he became famous as a knowledgeable antiquarian who gladly shared his library with others, he was always embarrassed about his lack of education and was reluctant to write formal histories. Nevertheless, he occasionally sent letters to the editors of magazines with a story he thought others might find interesting.
In the archives of Juniata College, where much of Cassel's collection is now held, are three pages of foolscap with Cassel's regular, neat handwriting. Dated September 26, 1728, it is titled "Some Interesting Reminiscences of the old Hopewell Baptist Church," located in Hunterton County, New Jersey. The meetinghouse was built in 1747 by Jonathan Stout, who Cassel identifies as a "Primitive Baptist." But his account of the original families of the church, who organized in April 1715, pales to the story he tells of one ancestor of the Stout family:
"But the most remarkable part of its history, is that of the Stout's family, of which we will give a brief sketch. Romantic as it may appear, we believe it strictly true; and furnishes a remarkable instance of the watchful care and protection of an over-ruling Providence for a special purpose.
"As already seen Jonathan Stout and family were the seed of the church and the beginning of the settlement; and also that of the fifteen which constituted the church, nine were Stouts, that it was constituted at the house of a Stout, the meetings were held in the dwellings of the Stouts for forty-one years, or till the meeting-house was built -- from first to last about half the members were Stouts -- for in looking over the church books we find about two hundred of the name. Besides about as many were of the blood, who had lost the name by marriage. And what is wonderful -- all sprang from one woman, and she as good as dead. Her history is carefully preserved by her posterity and is told as following: she was born at Amsterdam, about the year 1602. Her father's name was Vanprincis. She and her first husband (whose name is lost) sailed for New York (then called New Amsterdam) about the year 1620. The vessel was stranded at Sandy Hook about eighteen miles South of the harbor, the crew got ashore and marched towards the said New York. But Penelope's (that was her name) husband being so badly hurt in the wreck could not march with them. Therefore he and the wife tarried in the woods: -- they had not been long in the place, before the Indians killed them both (as they thought) and stripped them both naked to the skin. However Penelope came to life again, though her skull was fractured and her left shoulder so hacked, that she could never use that arm like the other, she was also cut across the abdomen, so that her bowels appeared; these she kept in with her hand. She continued in this miserable situation for seven days, taking shelter in a hollow tree, and eating the excresence of it. The seventh day she saw a deer passing by with arrows sticking in it, and soon after two Indians appeared, whom she was glad to see, hoping they would put her out of her misery: accordingly one made towards her, to knock her on the head, but the other, who was an elderly man, prevented him, and throwing his match-coat about her to cover her nakedness, he carried her to his wigwam, and cured her of her wounds and bruises, after that, he took her to New York and made a present of her, to her country-men.... It was in New York not long after her arrival, that one Richard Stout married her. He was a native of England and of a good family. She was now in her 22nd year and he in his fortieth. She bore him seven sons and three daughters, viz. Jonathan, the founder of Hopewell, John, Richard, James, Peter, David, Benjamin, Mary, Sarah and Alice. The daughters married into the families of the Bounds', Pikes', and Skeltons'. The sons also married and had many children. The mother lived to the extraordinary age of one hundred and ten years and saw her offspring multiplied into five hundred and two, in about eighty-eight years."
Penelope Stout could have died, should have died, yet she persevered despite her horrific ordeal -- and certainly all her descendents -- which would eventually include the novelist Rex Stout, best known for the Nero Wolfe mystery novels -- were thankful that she endured beyond a living death into a full and productive life.
On this Easter Day we celebrate Jesus, who also persevered through a horrifying ordeal and through whom we all have life, rich life, abundant life, life eternal. We are all family and all descendants of another who suffered that we might be live.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
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StoryShare, April 5-6, 8, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Regrets" by Keith Hewitt
"Incarnation" by C. David McKirachan
"A Few Words from Simon Peter" by Sandra Herrmann
"The Burial of Jesus" by Sandra Herrmann
"Back from the Dead" by Frank Ramirez
* * * * * * * *
Regrets
by Keith Hewitt
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
The old man looked up at the sun, just now peeking above the bottom of the cell window, high on the wall. "Do you know what I regret most?" he said wistfully.
The old man in the cell next to him grunted, did not move. "That argument we had in Antioch?"
Paul smiled, shook his head. "No. Well, yes -- but we both know I was right. I regret that it became an angry discussion, but there were things that needed to be said."
Peter stretched his back, opened his arms a bit causing the chains to rattle, let his head tilt back and rest on the cold stone wall of his cell. "Someone once told me that there is nothing wrong with having an unspoken thought. In fact, sometimes it can be a good thing."
Paul turned, looked through the iron bars at the next cell. "Thomas? That sounds like something he might say."
Peter smiled faintly. "Jesus. It was Jesus who told me that, many years ago. But I still remember it." He rolled his head to one side and looked through the bars. "I don't know if you know this, but I had sort of a reputation for being quick to speak -- but not necessarily quick to think. A bad combination."
"So I've heard," Paul said, reflecting the smile before he sighed. "But you have touched on my regret."
"Not speaking? Or not thinking?" the old man jabbed gently, still smiling in the morning gloom that was their world.
"The time you spent with the Master," Paul said with quiet dignity, ignoring the jabs of his companion. "Yes, he has come to me -- and my heart still aches at the thought that of all people, he came to me, after all I had done to his followers. But it's not like being with him there, on the road, while he was teaching. It must have been glorious."
Peter nodded, rolled his head back so he was facing forward, his eyes fixed on something far beyond the stone walls and iron bars. "It was. It was hard, at first, but there was something special about being there -- watching him preach to the crowds... just a few people, at first, and then more and more. We learned so much, the other disciples and me. We were at the top of the world, that last time... the last time he entered Jerusalem, before Passover... the crowds... the people and the palms..." He trailed off, still murmuring, but the words now submerged in memories.
"I wish I had been there that night -- you know, before he was betrayed," Paul said after a few moments. "That's what I truly regret. That last meal you shared, when the Master instituted communion. He taught me about it, helped me to teach it, but I still wasn't there when it actually happened. I wasn't there to hear the words, and see his face, to feel the love."
Peter looked at him. "That's your greatest regret?"
Paul nodded.
"That you didn't share communion with us, with Jesus?"
His companion nodded again.
Peter shook his head, causing the iron collar around his neck to shift against chafed skin, and he winced. "You're a foolish old man, Paul. A foolish old man."
"I don't disagree -- but why?"
"Because you teach, but you don't understand. Have you never had communion with our brothers and sisters?"
"Of course. I do it as often as I can -- did, anyway," he corrected. It had been a while, now.
"Then you have celebrated communion with our Master, and with me and all of the others who were there that night. It's not just about sharing the Master's teaching with your congregation, wherever you happen to be. It's not just a means of God's grace falling upon you. It's a connection -- by that one act, that one blessed act, I believe we are all somehow joined together with all the saints who have ever celebrated communion, and all the saints who ever will."
Peter struggled to his feet, walked to the bars between their cells; Paul moved closer, as well. They stood face-to-face, and Peter said softly, "That night, Jesus was asking you to remember, too."
Paul frowned. "But that can't be."
Peter shook his head, brushed off the objection. "I was there. I saw his eyes. I didn't understand, then, but I understand now. We were all there in that one moment -- across the ages, and down through time. We were all there." As he trailed off once more, they both remembered the Master's words, murmured them aloud.
And could it be --? The room seemed suddenly crowded...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Incarnation
by C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
I was in college when I read Ezra Pound's "Ballad of the Goodly Fere." I was a typical sophomore, a wise fool, full of myself, and hell bent to let the world know that I was my own person. I was also struggling to be a man. So much of what I was spouting and considering world-shattering truths had to do with this struggle and my childish answers. I felt called to confront anything that had come from others. The teachings of faith in a loving God were namby pamby stories for those who didn't have the guts to stand up to the establishment and tell the truth.
But this poem slammed into my presuppositions like a sledge, cracking the green cement of my creations. Pound let the Christ be a man. Strength and power, not miraculous vibrations on which He floats above all human issues, strength and power that plants Him in the middle of our struggle and our living.
I cried. I realized I'd done my parents a disservice. But more importantly, I realized I'd done Him, the Lord a disservice. I'd let the teachings be smothered by the teachers. I'd missed Him. It had been a while since I prayed. But the prayers that came from me then were more like a child's prayers, frank, open, and uncluttered. God was suddenly grounded, incarnate, specific in a very personal way.
I've been accused of being overly focused on the incarnate God. I won't fight with that because I've never been sure what an appropriate balance should look like. But this I know: When we face the passion of our Lord, I struggle. How do you let a friend go to the cross? He is my Lord. And so, I follow Him.
I include a few verses from Pound's poem. I don't know how balanced it is, but I hope it speaks to you.
When they came wi' a host to take Our Man
His smile was good to see,
"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.
Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine
When we last made company,
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere
But a man o' men was he.
A son of God was the Goodly Fere
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.
A master of men was the Goodly Fere,
A mate of the wind and sea,
If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.
I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb
Sin' they nailed him to the tree.
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).
A Few Words from Simon Peter
by Sandra Herrmann
Ave. My name is Simon Peter -- Simon to my Jewish family and friends. Peter to my brothers and sisters in the way of Christ. Peter the fisherman to the public who followed after Jesus everywhere he went.
That business of two names is pretty much the story of my life. Men in my family are all fishermen. I was out in the boat with my father and uncles and brothers as soon as I was six. I couldn't fish, of course, the nets were too heavy for any one man, let alone a child. My job was to clean out the fish after my older brother cut them open. I had to pull the innards out and put them in a bucket. It was a hard, dangerous life, but I loved it. I loved the smell of the sea, the roll of the boat on the waves, and the feel of the wood of the boat itself. The smell of the buckets I could do without.
My life was a good one. My brother Andrew and I had charge of one of Father's boats, and James and John -- our cousins -- had the other. Father ran every aspect of the business. Father had always been loud, shouting with laughter and even louder in anger. But he had to be able to make his voice heard over the winds and flapping sails.
Of course, we were all loud! The wind in our ears all the time made us all a little hard of hearing. So we all accepted Father's shouting, and shouted back at him. In his old age, he became more demanding, too, because he hated not being strong enough to pull the nets anymore. I kept reminding the others that he was frustrated, that's all.
Jesus loved my dad. He gave him a nickname: "Thunder throat." And Jesus called my brothers and cousins "Sons of Thunder." And me, well, my father had named me Simon, but Jesus named me Peter: The Rock. [Stand up straighter and taller. You're proud of this new name.]
My brothers teased me endlessly about Jesus' name for me. Said he gave me that name because that's how hard my head was! We really had a kind of rough humor, but Jesus would clap us on the shoulders and laugh along with us.
Then there was a turn in our relationship. Jesus was down at the waterfront and had started a conversation that drew in about fifty or so men who worked along the docks or in the market stalls. They were all pushing for a better view of him as he taught, and it was beginning to get a little out of hand. Jesus kept backing toward the water and some of his students had formed a ring around him so he wouldn't get hurt. Jesus turned and saw me standing in my boat, so he climbed aboard and asked me to push out from the shore a bit.
It was a clever idea. Those listening were not about to wade into the Sea of Galilee, so they sat down on the hard-packed beach and order was restored.
Jesus went on teaching. He was a powerful speaker. He told stories and related them to scripture. Those stories made a man think. Andrew and I sat down to listen too. Well, really, we had little else to do. We'd fished all night and had netted fewer than a dozen fish.
When Jesus was done, he said a prayer over the crowd and dismissed them. Then he turned to me and said, "Push out a little further from shore. I think I owe you for the use of your boat." Andrew started to say he owed us nothing, but I said, "It doesn't matter, Rabbi. We fished all night and got nothing." Jesus just smiled a little and said, "Let down your nets to the west, there." I shrugged. Jesus knew nothing about fishing, but to humor him, Andrew and I cast our net wide.
We nearly had a heart attack each when we tried to drag the net back in! It was full of HUGE fish! There were so many, we could feel the strain on the nets and before we knew it, one of the lines snapped! I waved frantically to James and John to bring the other boat, and they wasted no time, but came alongside us. It took all four of us to dump our catch into first one boat and then the other. When we counted them back on shore, we had over a 150 fish, which was unheard of.
I turned and looked at Jesus. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time. His face positively glowed, and I became afraid. I dropped to my knees and said, "Lord, get out of my boat. I'm a simple man, of rough speech, and you are not at all what I thought."
Jesus looked at me for a long moment, his head to one side, before he said, "Leave your boats, boys. I'm going to make you fishermen fishers of men." (Jesus loved a good pun.) We did just as he said, leaving our nets and sails and selling off the enormous catch, which would keep Father and Mother well off for long enough to hire replacements. He headed inland and so did we.
The things we saw over the next three years were amazing. If I hadn't seen Jesus heal people everywhere, I wouldn't believe the stories myself. Tender with children, harsh on the proud, and he had healing in his hands. James, John, and I were the privileged inner circle, welcome to every event in Jesus' life.
We were in the house when Jesus brought the daughter of a synagogue leader back from the dead. Oh, he explained it away by saying the girl wasn't dead, just sleeping. But among the mourners were those who had heard her rasping breath stop, and they told the real story all over the neighborhood. But by then our little band had moved on.
Jesus had taught us how to do the same. Seriously! He taught us how to pray, how to lay our hands on the sick, even how to cast out demons using his name! We had to learn that some demons would leave at once, but the more powerful ones required prayer and fasting so that God's Spirit could move through us and into the possessed, driving the demon out of the sufferer and back to the Pit. It was exciting stuff. But there were problems too.
James and John had an idea that Jesus was going to be an earthly ruler, and so they were constantly looking for ways to earn points with Jesus. Their mother, my father's sister, even came to Jesus to ask that her two boys be seated next to him when his kingdom was established! I was so embarrassed that I wouldn't talk to them for a week.
It seemed to me that they were all missing who and what Jesus was! One evening, for example, Jesus told us to set sail for Capernaum. He was going into the hills to pray and would see us later. We were used to this kind of thing. Jesus had taught us that we all need some time away from everything so we might hear God's voice more clearly. So we set sail.
In the middle of the night, the sea was a bit rough and the wind had come up. We were all awake, keeping the sails stiff and the boat upright, when Judas gave a shout and pointed off the port side. There was a figure, walking on the waves! Impossible! I peered through the dark, seeing a faint glow where the figure was moving. The others were all shouting that it was surely a ghost, when the figure waved at us and yelled, "Don't be afraid. It's just me!"
We were all taken aback. I shouted back, "If it's really you, Lord, tell me to walk to you on the water too!" And he did. So, I threw a leg over the side of the boat and started walking toward him. I couldn't believe it! It was a bit like walking on wet sand. My feet pressed into the waves, and yet, there I was, walking toward Jesus. But then a larger wave splashed up to my neck, I panicked. As I panicked, I felt myself slipping into the sea with the wave and had to yell for help! Jesus reached down to me and grasped my hand, pulling me back on top of the water. "Oh, Peter!" he said, shaking his head. "You were doing it. Why did you panic?" I couldn't explain it at all, but fishermen aren't swimmers. We know we have to stay in the boat. I hung my head.
Jesus slapped me on the back and said, "Don't worry about it, Peter, it's natural to question miracles. God knows, I do." And he laughed as we got back in the boat.
My fellow disciples loved to make fun of my failures. Jesus said it was because, as much as they loved me and wanted to serve God, they were a bit jealous of our close relationship. But there was a moment when I wondered if I had just blown that closeness.
It was the week that Jesus gave us our first glimpse of the kingdom of heaven. As we were traveling, Jesus asked us what people were saying about him. We told him that most people thought he was one of the prophets come back, maybe even Elijah.
Then Jesus asked a second question: "Who do you say I am?"
I just blurted out, "You are the Anointed One [Messiah]. You are the son of the living God." Jesus was so pleased! He told us that his entire kingdom was going to be based on the trust that I had just expressed. Wow! But then Jesus started talking about going to Jerusalem -- not a good idea at all, as far as I was concerned -- and that he would be arrested and put to death. I couldn't stand it. He was being so negative. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to one side. Softly but intently, I said, "God forbid, Lord! This is not the way to go!"
I don't know what I thought he would do when I said this, but what he did say was horrible: "Get behind me, Satan! You are a temptation to me when you talk this way, Peter. I am here to do the will of him who sent me, but you want me to turn away from that call." I felt awful. I nearly burst into tears. I was terrified he would actually die. And then what would happen to our people? He had yet to set up his kingdom. If he died now, none of it would come to pass. What could he be thinking? Had I lost my position with him? I was in misery.
This is how Jesus works: He left most of the disciples behind and took James, John, and I to the top of a high mountain. When we arrived, Jesus suddenly began to glow, more brightly than the sun. He was joined in an instant by two other figures. Somehow, we knew that the one on his right was Moses and the other Elijah. So that ended any thought that he was either of them come back to earth. They stayed for a long time, talking about Jesus' mission on earth, and other things I didn't understand. It was all so brilliantly lit that the three of us pressed our eyes shut and our foreheads to the dirt.
Just as suddenly, it was quiet and Jesus was touching us, waking us from our trances. I remember saying something about setting up a memorial on that spot, maybe three shelters, one for Moses, one for Elijah, and one for him. Jesus didn't even act as though he had heard my foolish prattle, for which I am grateful. Even more, I was grateful for the privilege to be there, especially after he had been so angry with me.
And that brings me to my last encounter with Jesus: The night he was arrested -- just as he had said. He was tried and condemned by night, against the law of the Lord -- just as he had foretold. I failed him, again, as he had foretold.
I had taken advantage of the relationship one of our women disciples had with Herod's household so I could get into the area where he was being tried. I don't know what I was thinking. Nothing I could do would change a thing, and I soon discovered I had put myself in grave danger. In my fear, I denied that I had ever known him! I was so ashamed! I did break down and cry.
But even then, Jesus forgave me and made me more than I ever could have thought. Three days after he had been taken down from the cross and put in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, his mother, Mary Magdalene, and Joanna came to us and told us he was alive! I ran to the tomb, even outrunning John, only to find the tomb empty. I didn't know what to make of it and neither did anyone else.
We were all sitting around, feeling sorry for ourselves. I was getting weary of doing nothing. I started pacing, and then I said, "I'm going fishing. Anybody want to come?" James, John, and Andrew stood up at once and soon the rest of the eleven who were left came along with me.
I've never pretended to be the best disciple or the smartest or the most faithful. But I have come to understand that none of us measures up to what we hope we are. I have been forgiven by my Lord so many times, corrected so that I can tell others that it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done, God loves you more than you can know. I know this because Jesus came to that beach, right near where we were fishing. He called out and asked if we'd caught anything. No, we said, not a thing. He told us to drop our nets right next to the boat, and they filled immediately. I knew at once it was Jesus. This was how we met at the beginning! Him paying for the use of our boat, giving us a huge draft of fish! I grabbed my cloak and jumped into the water, slogging to the beach. And Jesus forgave me. Not just once, but three times he asked if I loved him and each time, he gave me my commission: "Feed my sheep." Three times. The number of times I had denied I knew him. Three times he put me back to work.
That's why I'm here today. Because my Lord forgave me, gave me work, restored my faith in myself, and assured me I would never be separated from him. And neither will you.
Peace be with you.
The Burial of Jesus
by Sandra Herrmann
John 18:1--19:42
1 My name is Joseph of Arimathea. I was on the Sanhedrin back in the days when Jesus of
2 Nazareth came to trial. And I have a few words to say about that awful day. Will you be willing
3 to hear me out?
4 First, I know that many of you stand in judgment of me because I didn't somehow spare
5 Jesus his suffering and death. I am not about to argue with you. Looking back, I do wonder
6 if I might have at least saved him from some of his suffering had I raised more questions that
7 night. Not that I didn't speak up. God knows I did! However, it became clear that any opposition to the
8 high priest and his circle was not being listened to. It seemed to me at the time that if we
9 weren't careful, all of us who were impressed with Jesus' teachings would wind up next to him
10 before Pilate.
11 Those were difficult days for being a Jew anyway. The Romans hated us all and would
12 have been glad to crucify all of the Jewish leadership. We were all troublemakers as far as Pilate
13 was concerned. Of course, it didn't help that there had been many uprisings led by would-be
14 messiahs over the past twenty years. Just a few years before Jesus rode into town, there had been
15 crosses from Jerusalem to the Damascus Road, each one holding a writhing, screaming follower
16 of one or another of these pretenders.
17 That was the difficulty, of course. How to tell a pretender from the real thing? As far as
18 Caiaphas was concerned, Jesus was just one of the many. "How could he be the anointed one if
19 he came from Nazareth? Search the scriptures! No prophet is foretold out of Galilee. How could
20 he be a prophet, coming from that nearly apostate region?"
21 That was true. Furthermore, no one knew for certain what house and lineage Jesus
22 had. His father Joseph claimed to be from the house of David the king, but there were stories
23 that his mother had been pregnant when Joseph married her. As we all know, there is no way
24 to know who a man's father is unless his mother was virgin when they came together. It was all
25 very complex.
26 Even so, there were many of us -- hundreds right there in Jerusalem, not to mention Syria,
27 Samaria, Decapolis, and Phoenicia and even points north from there -- who had come to believe,
28 or at least wonder, about this brash new prophet. He had thousands of miraculous healings to his
29 name, not to mention rumors of those he had raised from apparent death -- a synagogue president
30 here in Judea claimed that after his daughter had died in full view of the entire family, Jesus
31 came into her room and told her to wake up! Weird enough that he would say this. More
32 improbably yet, she woke up, got to her feet, and Jesus told them to get her something to eat.
33 Then there was the young man in Nain whose mother claimed they were carrying his body to the
34 family tomb when Jesus came alongside the bier and again "waked the dead." Finally, there
35 was the very strange case of Lazarus of Bethany, whose sisters had seen him into the family
36 grave three days before Jesus called him out of the cave.
37 Caiaphas disdained these stories, of course. Anyone with half a brain can tell the dead
38 from the sleeping. And Martha, Lazarus' sister, said herself that the body already could be
39 smelled even with the stone over the mouth of the cave. I had made the short trip to Bethany, and
40 no one could be more certain that they were telling the truth. If you had seen Lazarus, you
41 would know that he really did seem to be, as the popular saying is, "death warmed over." There is
42 yet the mark of death on him. His lips and fingernails are lavender in color.
43 So I put forward my objections. Jesus had assuredly not preached the overthrow of
44 Rome, even if he had a Zealot for a follower. Oh, you don't know about the Zealots? Well, they
45 are men (and even women!) who carried a dagger hidden in their cloaks, for the
46 purpose of stabbing a Roman soldier or sympathizer. Terrorists, they are. One of the few things
47 Caiaphas and I agree on is the need to take away those daggers.
48 Jesus did have an unfortunate habit of keeping company with the wrong sort of people.
49 But not just troublemakers like the Zealot. On the other hand, in fact, he had a tax collector or
50 two in his entourage. Levi and Zacchaeus, for two, had been tax collectors and not only renounced
51 their ways, they sold their ill-gotten gains and gave it away to all those from whom they had
52 collected above and beyond what Rome decreed. If you don't believe in any other miracle Jesus
53 is said to have performed, you have to admit that those two tax collectors impoverishing
54 themselves is miracle enough.
55 None of these arguments moved Caiaphas and his loyal followers. Jesus had no respect
56 for their authority, as any "good Jew" would. His attitude would soon bring the legions of Rome
57 down on us, he said. What he didn't say was that Jesus had demonstrated just how far the
58 temple authorities had strayed from the clear reading of scriptures. Jesus wasn't the only one
59 who found the bleating of sheep and the click of the abacus intrusive in the sacred courts.
60 So Jesus had to go, I was told. I finally hung my head in defeat. I watched him
61 dragged out by temple guards and handed over to the evil hands of Pilate.
62 Oh, I know, Pilate washed his hands in front of the people, and said he found no reason to
63 crucify him. But you have to know Pilate to know what was really going on there. This man is
64 one of the most superstitious people I have ever met. And a liar, a liar who thinks every Jew is
65 stupid. So on the one hand he demands Jesus tell him where he came from, afraid that maybe
66 Jesus really is a minor deity in a world he believes to be swarming with gods and goddesses,
67 nymphs, and satyrs. On the other hand, he really wants us to suffer. So how can he accomplish
68 both? Well, wash his hands, make the crowd take on the sin he is committing, and of course the
69 crowd took it on! With the priests chanting "We have no king but Caesar!" he condemns Jesus to
70 die. Now he can shrug and say, "Well, it was what the Jews wanted. What could I do?" The
71 sanctimonious phony. And the next thing we hear, he and Herod are suddenly great friends.
72 They deserve each other.
73 I went to Pilate, even so. I asked for Jesus' body before it was taken from the cross,
74 so it would not be thrown into Gehenna (the open, burning garbage dump outside of Jerusalem).
75 I played up to him, so that I could see to it that Jesus' body was not defiled. I have a tomb nearby
76 that hadn't been used yet. Jesus' body should not be defiled by being in an old tomb, unclean due
77 to the dust of former burials. Nicodemus helped me get the body and put it in the tomb with the
78 proper spices and ointment. The application of these has to wait until after the Passover supper,
79 because the servants who carried the body have no training in embalming rites, and we cannot
80 eat the Passover if we're defiled by touching the dead body. So we laid him down and sealed the
81 mouth of the tomb.
82 We are two sad men, Nicodemus and I. We kissed each other when it was all done and
83 are on our way to our separate homes for the sacred meal. We each had such high hopes! We
84 both thought that maybe Jesus really was the one foretold. But here I stand, and Jesus is dead.
85 Already, I miss his laughter. I will miss his tenderness with women and children, his
86 intellect, his ability to say "You have heard it said, but I say to you..." and then teach in such a
87 way that anyone could understand what he was saying. He said that God's love is wide and deep,
88 and we believed him.
89 So now I wonder... how could his loving papa (as he called God) stand by and watch?
90 What will be the end of this story? Another prophet, killed in Jerusalem? Dead and gone and
91 nothing changed? What will ever restore our hope?
The lines of this piece are numbered for ease in presenting it as a dramatic monologue. If you want to use this as a dramatic monologue, encourage the actor to use dramatic movements, such as looking to one side of the church, where Nicodemus might have stood a moment before, perhaps waving as though he can see him walking away.
When the actor reaches line number 82, he should pause for dramatic effect, perhaps shaking his head in sadness as he starts the line. When he finishes the speech, he should shuffle away slowly, shoulders bent.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Back from the Dead
by Frank Ramirez
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.
-- Psalm 118:17
Maybe merely being restored to life after having been left for dead is not the same as rising from the grave, but the story of Penelope Stout certainly calls to mind the miracle of Easter. Penelope was not only granted more life -- she lived that life to the fullest.
Before we tell the story, let's introduce the storyteller. Abraham Harley Cassel (1820-1908) of Harleysville, Pennsylvania, was one of the old Dunkers, one of the Pennsylvania Dutch, such as you might see driving a buggy through rural Lancaster or York counties today. Raised to farming, he had a hunger for books that was nearly starved by his father, who believed that the only result that could come from education was learning how to sin.
As a result Cassel, whose first language was German, attended school a total of less than six weeks. His first language was German. An older sister taught him English as well as reading and writing. As an adult Abraham Harley Cassel, though of simple means, amassed a library of over 50,000 books, manuscripts, and pamphlets.
Though he became famous as a knowledgeable antiquarian who gladly shared his library with others, he was always embarrassed about his lack of education and was reluctant to write formal histories. Nevertheless, he occasionally sent letters to the editors of magazines with a story he thought others might find interesting.
In the archives of Juniata College, where much of Cassel's collection is now held, are three pages of foolscap with Cassel's regular, neat handwriting. Dated September 26, 1728, it is titled "Some Interesting Reminiscences of the old Hopewell Baptist Church," located in Hunterton County, New Jersey. The meetinghouse was built in 1747 by Jonathan Stout, who Cassel identifies as a "Primitive Baptist." But his account of the original families of the church, who organized in April 1715, pales to the story he tells of one ancestor of the Stout family:
"But the most remarkable part of its history, is that of the Stout's family, of which we will give a brief sketch. Romantic as it may appear, we believe it strictly true; and furnishes a remarkable instance of the watchful care and protection of an over-ruling Providence for a special purpose.
"As already seen Jonathan Stout and family were the seed of the church and the beginning of the settlement; and also that of the fifteen which constituted the church, nine were Stouts, that it was constituted at the house of a Stout, the meetings were held in the dwellings of the Stouts for forty-one years, or till the meeting-house was built -- from first to last about half the members were Stouts -- for in looking over the church books we find about two hundred of the name. Besides about as many were of the blood, who had lost the name by marriage. And what is wonderful -- all sprang from one woman, and she as good as dead. Her history is carefully preserved by her posterity and is told as following: she was born at Amsterdam, about the year 1602. Her father's name was Vanprincis. She and her first husband (whose name is lost) sailed for New York (then called New Amsterdam) about the year 1620. The vessel was stranded at Sandy Hook about eighteen miles South of the harbor, the crew got ashore and marched towards the said New York. But Penelope's (that was her name) husband being so badly hurt in the wreck could not march with them. Therefore he and the wife tarried in the woods: -- they had not been long in the place, before the Indians killed them both (as they thought) and stripped them both naked to the skin. However Penelope came to life again, though her skull was fractured and her left shoulder so hacked, that she could never use that arm like the other, she was also cut across the abdomen, so that her bowels appeared; these she kept in with her hand. She continued in this miserable situation for seven days, taking shelter in a hollow tree, and eating the excresence of it. The seventh day she saw a deer passing by with arrows sticking in it, and soon after two Indians appeared, whom she was glad to see, hoping they would put her out of her misery: accordingly one made towards her, to knock her on the head, but the other, who was an elderly man, prevented him, and throwing his match-coat about her to cover her nakedness, he carried her to his wigwam, and cured her of her wounds and bruises, after that, he took her to New York and made a present of her, to her country-men.... It was in New York not long after her arrival, that one Richard Stout married her. He was a native of England and of a good family. She was now in her 22nd year and he in his fortieth. She bore him seven sons and three daughters, viz. Jonathan, the founder of Hopewell, John, Richard, James, Peter, David, Benjamin, Mary, Sarah and Alice. The daughters married into the families of the Bounds', Pikes', and Skeltons'. The sons also married and had many children. The mother lived to the extraordinary age of one hundred and ten years and saw her offspring multiplied into five hundred and two, in about eighty-eight years."
Penelope Stout could have died, should have died, yet she persevered despite her horrific ordeal -- and certainly all her descendents -- which would eventually include the novelist Rex Stout, best known for the Nero Wolfe mystery novels -- were thankful that she endured beyond a living death into a full and productive life.
On this Easter Day we celebrate Jesus, who also persevered through a horrifying ordeal and through whom we all have life, rich life, abundant life, life eternal. We are all family and all descendants of another who suffered that we might be live.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
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StoryShare, April 5-6, 8, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
