It Was A Long Time Ago
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"It was a Long Time Ago" by David O. Bales
"The Snare is Broken" by John Sumwalt
"A Rose and a Scarf" by Craig Kelly
What's Up This Week
Many of us seek titles, prestige, authority, and power. People of faith, however, know that titles are fleeting and power and prestige can corrupt. "It was a Long Time Ago" reminds us that Jesus himself, he who is seated at the right hand of God himself, beyond any title we can give him, did not seek after titles but rather came to serve. "The Snare is Broken" illustrates how, sadly, positions of authority and trust, even within the church, can be used destructively and how it takes the power of God to work through the damage that misuse can cause. "A Rose and a Scarf," on the other hand, tells the story of someone who did not seek after power or authority but instead opted for a different, more fulfilling reward.
* * * * * * * * *
It was a Long Time Ago
By David O. Bales
Matthew 16:13-20
"We'd talked about it," Peter said. "We were thrilled when people mentioned Jesus in the same breath with John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets. We didn't speak about it in front of Jesus, though. He was touchy about such things, always calling himself 'Son of Man,' which confused everybody. But," Peter sighed, shook his head, and leaned against a wall, "this is going to take some time to explain. Why don't you all sit down?"
Peter hadn't planned to teach tonight. He'd returned late from half a day's walking and teaching in villages north of Syrian Antioch. Tonight he returned to this small Christian group on the south side of Antioch to join them in prayer and to offer a blessing over their meal. He hoped to be refreshed by their fellowship and expected to fall asleep during the meal. Yet all heads and hearts turned to him when he entered and, after he'd answered two other questions, someone asked what happened when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi. When everyone was seated, Peter continued, "We'd stretch out on the trail behind Jesus and hold our whispered conversations, repeating the questions asked of us town by town, 'Who is he, really?' "
Peter looked sad. "I've never gotten completely used to... Well, people don't really believe us that we could be with Jesus for so long and not understand him better than others. But we didn't. We had hopes and questions like everybody else, and I don't know what was stirring inside Jesus that day. Maybe he'd heard us repeat what everyone asked of us students, but he stopped mid-path, nobody around. 'Who do people say that the Son of Man is?'
"We were excited to report, 'Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.' We were all smiles and ready to break out in hallelujahs. But, you know, it wasn't Jesus' style just to leave such things at that. We should've learned by then, because his next question pegged our sandals to the ground. He said, 'But who do you say that I am?'
"I hadn't seen this coming; but, we'd watched Jesus heal cripples and send them away walking and forgive people and heard them praise God. We'd watched him vex the Pharisees and stump the Sadducees, which thrilled us to no end. So, like I was bartering in the marketplace, I chose the highest title, thinking I could always lower the value if I had to. If this was my chance to help Jesus think better of himself, I would.
"I answered, 'You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.' " Three women in front of Peter cheered and all others stirred and smiled. A man stood in the back and said, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter --"
"Wait," Peter said. He held up his hand with a look of exasperation. He stood with his hand up until everyone was quiet. With his hand still in the air, he closed his eyes tightly, then slowly opened them. "I'm glad you've heard the story and remembered it. Obviously some of my fellow apostles remembered it better than I do and they've passed it along to you. Now this... this is hard to explain. People get it wrong. Jesus wasn't somehow honoring me, like I'd scored first on a test. And I didn't really understand. And... and, well, that was over 35 years ago and I won't pretend to tell you exactly what Jesus said or meant. I don't remember the event like it was yesterday. I remember it like it was three decades ago, and so my mind has smoothed out the details and I only remember what seems most important -- and it's this: After all the amazing things Jesus said about himself and then about me, he rocked me on my heels. He said sternly that we weren't supposed to tell anyone he was the Messiah.
"It's as though Jesus said, 'You're right. Don't tell anyone.' And after having walked with him three years, and after meeting him after his resurrection, and after living within his Spirit ever since -- sometimes following him well and sometimes doing poorly, the apostle Paul probably told you about that -- I've learned that Jesus is always more than our narrow understanding of him and greater than the small titles we give to him."
Peter sighed, "I must rest, and I'd very much like something to eat. However, a couple things to clear up. My responsibility as Jesus' apostle is also more than you understand. It's not just a great privilege, but a grinding obligation. I must serve, not govern or command. So also Jesus as Messiah: People wanted a Messiah to raise an army and defeat the Romans. Jesus, instead, laid down his life for all. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to explain this a little better, but I've learned that our Christian message doesn't hang on our own insights, even our best ones, and Jesus' free grace to us costs our entire life in return. So please, before I get off my feet for the rest of the evening, repeat after me, 'Jesus is always more than the small titles we give to him.' "
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
The Snare is Broken
By John Sumwalt
Psalm 124
We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped.
-- Psalm 124:7
The snare was tripped, and my soul snagged, the moment that eager young seminarian stepped onto our front porch. It was August of 1967. I was sixteen years old, sophomore class president and sectional wrestling champion. It had been the best year of my young life and I had no way of knowing that I was about to be "swallowed up alive" as it is written in Psalm 124, by a terrible "anger" that I could never have imagined existed in this world.
No one had heard of sexual predators in those days. There were men who "liked boys," and some who molested young girls, but they were always somewhere else, in a city far away, never in our world of Holsteins and feeder pigs in the American heartland, and certainly not in our little white-frame country church. It was unheard of and unthinkable, and, as we would all come to know; it was happening to thousands of boys and girls in country and city churches all over the world.
Now it can be said, even by the Pope, who like almost all of his brother and sister bishops, both Catholic and Protestant, has denied, minimalized, and covered up the damages while protecting the predators all of these years.
It seemed so easy, so simple, when at last the truth of the horrors was spoken by this "shepherd of shepherds" to the very unprotected, neglected, wounded souls who have been left for so long outside the fold of the church. Why did it take so long? If it had not been that "God was on our side," we could not have survived.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee and the author of nine books, to be released by CSS in 2007. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
A Rose and a Scarf
By Craig Kelly
Romans 12:1-8
The plain, pine box sat silent in the parlor. One red rose was placed on top. Since there had been no viewing, it had been decided that the lid on the casket would remain closed.
Five rows of five chairs were set up to accommodate mourners, but only half of them were filled. The only ones who came were a few distant relatives, a couple of neighbors, three or four from her church, and a couple of elderly ladies traveling the "funeral circuit"; apparently they had nothing better to do.
There was no decoration, only a few floral arrangements that belonged to the funeral home. Two standing lamps cast a soft glow on the casket, one at the head and one at the foot. Soft instrumental music played "In The Garden" over the embedded speakers in the ceiling.
As the music softened, the pastor entered the room through a back door, dressed in a plain white robe with a black stole hanging over the shoulders, carrying a large cardboard box, taped with masking tape, in front of him. He silently walked to the podium, setting the box down behind him. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for coming. As you know, today we are gathered to remember and celebrate the life of Althea May James. Let us pray."
After opening in a word of prayer, the pastor continued, "I'll try not to take too long today. From the conversations I had with Althea prior to her death, I know she wouldn't want a lot of fuss and big speeches. I'm going to read you a passage of scripture not necessarily heard much at funerals, but one that I believe is appropriate for today. In Romans, Paul says, 'I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.'
"Althea May James probably lived out this scripture better than anyone I ever knew. She didn't live it loudly, but her life was a sacrifice poured out to God, even though we couldn't see it.
"You know, it says later in that passage from Romans that because we are all members of the body of Christ, we should exercise our gifts, each as God gave us. Just as some functions of the body are less visible than others, so it is in the body of Christ. Some of the greatest gifts God gives us get the least attention.
"Many people didn't know Althea, even people in the church she attended for so many years. She always slipped in quietly during the first hymn, sitting in the back corner of the church. She was always the first one out, and as her health declined, she had to leave earlier and earlier so she could slip out unnoticed. She always dressed clean but plain. Anyone seeing her would probably have thought she was just another poor person from the inner city, maybe a homeless woman come to find some shelter or maybe a handout.
"I myself didn't even know much about her for the first few years I was here. It was only over time that I began to see past the surface, past the quiet exterior. Over time, I began to get to know a woman of deep prayer, a woman of generous spirit, a woman of profound humility. Only a handful of us ever saw her worn and tattered Bible, with a copy of the parish directory inside. None of us heard the constant prayers she offered up to God for each family in her congregation. She knew hardly anything about them, yet their names were constantly on her lips, asking God for their welfare and preservation.
"Only a handful of us saw the socks, the scarves, the hats she knitted over and over again, her gnarled, arthritic hands wincing in pain as she worked the knitting needles. Yet, she continued in her work, not for herself, but for the homeless at the local soup kitchen, as well as for orphans in Russia and the Ukraine."
The pastor stopped for a moment, then reached behind him, cutting the tape on top of the cardboard box with his fingernail. Opening the box, he pulled out a thick woolen scarf, woven together with various shades of red and purple yarn, and then turned back to the mourners.
"Althea was even able to finish one more box of scarves and hats before she died. She never stopped working, even as the cancer continued to ravage her body. She was determined to see her calling through to the end.
"It wasn't until just before she died that I learned she had taken her life savings, everything except for a small amount to cover -- barely -- the funeral and burial expenses, and gave it all to aid in programs helping the homeless and destitute in this city. I remember one of the last times I visited her. I asked her why she didn't want to use more of her money to make for a better funeral or to make her more comfortable in her final days. She just smiled and said, 'Pastor, why on earth would I want to hold on to a meager treasure down here when I won't be here to use them? I want to see that they're put to good use. Besides, I'll have everything I need when I get to the other side.' Everything was so simple for her, and yet her simplicity bred a wisdom that few of us could hope to attain.
"She never looked for accolades. She never looked for worldly esteem. She was not conformed to this world, but in her simple, powerful faith, she always walked in the will of God -- his perfect, acceptable will.
"In a hundred years, maybe even a hundred days, no one will remember the name Althea May James. Yet, in her own quiet way, she took the gifts God gave her and used them, and her actions, though unseen here, will echo throughout eternity."
The pastor paused, swallowing hard. "If there is one thing Althea would want you to know, I think it would be this: We all have a part to play. We all have a job to do. It may be a big part that everyone sees. It may be a part that gets noticed. Or you may have a job like Althea's. You may be called to just be in the background, being faithful in the little jobs that God gives you to do. Yet whatever your job, large or small, do it with everything that is in you. If you are called to preach, preach with everything in you. If your job is to sweep floors, do it with everything in you, offering your job, yourself, as a sacrifice to the God who made you and loves you. When you have finished the race, when you have played your part, you too will hear those words: 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.' "
The pastor quietly stepped away from the podium, walking over to the pine casket. He slowly placed the scarf on the coffin lid next to the rose, the shades of red and purple complimenting the deep red hue of the flower. "This was Althea May James' legacy," the pastor finally said. "She lived her calling, praying in secret and knitting scarves. I think her prayer would be -- and I know mine is -- that you too would dedicate yourself to drawing closer to God and following his will. Become a living sacrifice, even if all you have to show for it at the end is a rose and a scarf. It will be enough."
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing. This is his first publication.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, August 24, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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
"It was a Long Time Ago" by David O. Bales
"The Snare is Broken" by John Sumwalt
"A Rose and a Scarf" by Craig Kelly
What's Up This Week
Many of us seek titles, prestige, authority, and power. People of faith, however, know that titles are fleeting and power and prestige can corrupt. "It was a Long Time Ago" reminds us that Jesus himself, he who is seated at the right hand of God himself, beyond any title we can give him, did not seek after titles but rather came to serve. "The Snare is Broken" illustrates how, sadly, positions of authority and trust, even within the church, can be used destructively and how it takes the power of God to work through the damage that misuse can cause. "A Rose and a Scarf," on the other hand, tells the story of someone who did not seek after power or authority but instead opted for a different, more fulfilling reward.
* * * * * * * * *
It was a Long Time Ago
By David O. Bales
Matthew 16:13-20
"We'd talked about it," Peter said. "We were thrilled when people mentioned Jesus in the same breath with John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets. We didn't speak about it in front of Jesus, though. He was touchy about such things, always calling himself 'Son of Man,' which confused everybody. But," Peter sighed, shook his head, and leaned against a wall, "this is going to take some time to explain. Why don't you all sit down?"
Peter hadn't planned to teach tonight. He'd returned late from half a day's walking and teaching in villages north of Syrian Antioch. Tonight he returned to this small Christian group on the south side of Antioch to join them in prayer and to offer a blessing over their meal. He hoped to be refreshed by their fellowship and expected to fall asleep during the meal. Yet all heads and hearts turned to him when he entered and, after he'd answered two other questions, someone asked what happened when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi. When everyone was seated, Peter continued, "We'd stretch out on the trail behind Jesus and hold our whispered conversations, repeating the questions asked of us town by town, 'Who is he, really?' "
Peter looked sad. "I've never gotten completely used to... Well, people don't really believe us that we could be with Jesus for so long and not understand him better than others. But we didn't. We had hopes and questions like everybody else, and I don't know what was stirring inside Jesus that day. Maybe he'd heard us repeat what everyone asked of us students, but he stopped mid-path, nobody around. 'Who do people say that the Son of Man is?'
"We were excited to report, 'Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.' We were all smiles and ready to break out in hallelujahs. But, you know, it wasn't Jesus' style just to leave such things at that. We should've learned by then, because his next question pegged our sandals to the ground. He said, 'But who do you say that I am?'
"I hadn't seen this coming; but, we'd watched Jesus heal cripples and send them away walking and forgive people and heard them praise God. We'd watched him vex the Pharisees and stump the Sadducees, which thrilled us to no end. So, like I was bartering in the marketplace, I chose the highest title, thinking I could always lower the value if I had to. If this was my chance to help Jesus think better of himself, I would.
"I answered, 'You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.' " Three women in front of Peter cheered and all others stirred and smiled. A man stood in the back and said, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter --"
"Wait," Peter said. He held up his hand with a look of exasperation. He stood with his hand up until everyone was quiet. With his hand still in the air, he closed his eyes tightly, then slowly opened them. "I'm glad you've heard the story and remembered it. Obviously some of my fellow apostles remembered it better than I do and they've passed it along to you. Now this... this is hard to explain. People get it wrong. Jesus wasn't somehow honoring me, like I'd scored first on a test. And I didn't really understand. And... and, well, that was over 35 years ago and I won't pretend to tell you exactly what Jesus said or meant. I don't remember the event like it was yesterday. I remember it like it was three decades ago, and so my mind has smoothed out the details and I only remember what seems most important -- and it's this: After all the amazing things Jesus said about himself and then about me, he rocked me on my heels. He said sternly that we weren't supposed to tell anyone he was the Messiah.
"It's as though Jesus said, 'You're right. Don't tell anyone.' And after having walked with him three years, and after meeting him after his resurrection, and after living within his Spirit ever since -- sometimes following him well and sometimes doing poorly, the apostle Paul probably told you about that -- I've learned that Jesus is always more than our narrow understanding of him and greater than the small titles we give to him."
Peter sighed, "I must rest, and I'd very much like something to eat. However, a couple things to clear up. My responsibility as Jesus' apostle is also more than you understand. It's not just a great privilege, but a grinding obligation. I must serve, not govern or command. So also Jesus as Messiah: People wanted a Messiah to raise an army and defeat the Romans. Jesus, instead, laid down his life for all. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to explain this a little better, but I've learned that our Christian message doesn't hang on our own insights, even our best ones, and Jesus' free grace to us costs our entire life in return. So please, before I get off my feet for the rest of the evening, repeat after me, 'Jesus is always more than the small titles we give to him.' "
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
The Snare is Broken
By John Sumwalt
Psalm 124
We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped.
-- Psalm 124:7
The snare was tripped, and my soul snagged, the moment that eager young seminarian stepped onto our front porch. It was August of 1967. I was sixteen years old, sophomore class president and sectional wrestling champion. It had been the best year of my young life and I had no way of knowing that I was about to be "swallowed up alive" as it is written in Psalm 124, by a terrible "anger" that I could never have imagined existed in this world.
No one had heard of sexual predators in those days. There were men who "liked boys," and some who molested young girls, but they were always somewhere else, in a city far away, never in our world of Holsteins and feeder pigs in the American heartland, and certainly not in our little white-frame country church. It was unheard of and unthinkable, and, as we would all come to know; it was happening to thousands of boys and girls in country and city churches all over the world.
Now it can be said, even by the Pope, who like almost all of his brother and sister bishops, both Catholic and Protestant, has denied, minimalized, and covered up the damages while protecting the predators all of these years.
It seemed so easy, so simple, when at last the truth of the horrors was spoken by this "shepherd of shepherds" to the very unprotected, neglected, wounded souls who have been left for so long outside the fold of the church. Why did it take so long? If it had not been that "God was on our side," we could not have survived.
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee and the author of nine books, to be released by CSS in 2007. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
A Rose and a Scarf
By Craig Kelly
Romans 12:1-8
The plain, pine box sat silent in the parlor. One red rose was placed on top. Since there had been no viewing, it had been decided that the lid on the casket would remain closed.
Five rows of five chairs were set up to accommodate mourners, but only half of them were filled. The only ones who came were a few distant relatives, a couple of neighbors, three or four from her church, and a couple of elderly ladies traveling the "funeral circuit"; apparently they had nothing better to do.
There was no decoration, only a few floral arrangements that belonged to the funeral home. Two standing lamps cast a soft glow on the casket, one at the head and one at the foot. Soft instrumental music played "In The Garden" over the embedded speakers in the ceiling.
As the music softened, the pastor entered the room through a back door, dressed in a plain white robe with a black stole hanging over the shoulders, carrying a large cardboard box, taped with masking tape, in front of him. He silently walked to the podium, setting the box down behind him. He cleared his throat.
"Thank you all for coming. As you know, today we are gathered to remember and celebrate the life of Althea May James. Let us pray."
After opening in a word of prayer, the pastor continued, "I'll try not to take too long today. From the conversations I had with Althea prior to her death, I know she wouldn't want a lot of fuss and big speeches. I'm going to read you a passage of scripture not necessarily heard much at funerals, but one that I believe is appropriate for today. In Romans, Paul says, 'I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.'
"Althea May James probably lived out this scripture better than anyone I ever knew. She didn't live it loudly, but her life was a sacrifice poured out to God, even though we couldn't see it.
"You know, it says later in that passage from Romans that because we are all members of the body of Christ, we should exercise our gifts, each as God gave us. Just as some functions of the body are less visible than others, so it is in the body of Christ. Some of the greatest gifts God gives us get the least attention.
"Many people didn't know Althea, even people in the church she attended for so many years. She always slipped in quietly during the first hymn, sitting in the back corner of the church. She was always the first one out, and as her health declined, she had to leave earlier and earlier so she could slip out unnoticed. She always dressed clean but plain. Anyone seeing her would probably have thought she was just another poor person from the inner city, maybe a homeless woman come to find some shelter or maybe a handout.
"I myself didn't even know much about her for the first few years I was here. It was only over time that I began to see past the surface, past the quiet exterior. Over time, I began to get to know a woman of deep prayer, a woman of generous spirit, a woman of profound humility. Only a handful of us ever saw her worn and tattered Bible, with a copy of the parish directory inside. None of us heard the constant prayers she offered up to God for each family in her congregation. She knew hardly anything about them, yet their names were constantly on her lips, asking God for their welfare and preservation.
"Only a handful of us saw the socks, the scarves, the hats she knitted over and over again, her gnarled, arthritic hands wincing in pain as she worked the knitting needles. Yet, she continued in her work, not for herself, but for the homeless at the local soup kitchen, as well as for orphans in Russia and the Ukraine."
The pastor stopped for a moment, then reached behind him, cutting the tape on top of the cardboard box with his fingernail. Opening the box, he pulled out a thick woolen scarf, woven together with various shades of red and purple yarn, and then turned back to the mourners.
"Althea was even able to finish one more box of scarves and hats before she died. She never stopped working, even as the cancer continued to ravage her body. She was determined to see her calling through to the end.
"It wasn't until just before she died that I learned she had taken her life savings, everything except for a small amount to cover -- barely -- the funeral and burial expenses, and gave it all to aid in programs helping the homeless and destitute in this city. I remember one of the last times I visited her. I asked her why she didn't want to use more of her money to make for a better funeral or to make her more comfortable in her final days. She just smiled and said, 'Pastor, why on earth would I want to hold on to a meager treasure down here when I won't be here to use them? I want to see that they're put to good use. Besides, I'll have everything I need when I get to the other side.' Everything was so simple for her, and yet her simplicity bred a wisdom that few of us could hope to attain.
"She never looked for accolades. She never looked for worldly esteem. She was not conformed to this world, but in her simple, powerful faith, she always walked in the will of God -- his perfect, acceptable will.
"In a hundred years, maybe even a hundred days, no one will remember the name Althea May James. Yet, in her own quiet way, she took the gifts God gave her and used them, and her actions, though unseen here, will echo throughout eternity."
The pastor paused, swallowing hard. "If there is one thing Althea would want you to know, I think it would be this: We all have a part to play. We all have a job to do. It may be a big part that everyone sees. It may be a part that gets noticed. Or you may have a job like Althea's. You may be called to just be in the background, being faithful in the little jobs that God gives you to do. Yet whatever your job, large or small, do it with everything that is in you. If you are called to preach, preach with everything in you. If your job is to sweep floors, do it with everything in you, offering your job, yourself, as a sacrifice to the God who made you and loves you. When you have finished the race, when you have played your part, you too will hear those words: 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.' "
The pastor quietly stepped away from the podium, walking over to the pine casket. He slowly placed the scarf on the coffin lid next to the rose, the shades of red and purple complimenting the deep red hue of the flower. "This was Althea May James' legacy," the pastor finally said. "She lived her calling, praying in secret and knitting scarves. I think her prayer would be -- and I know mine is -- that you too would dedicate yourself to drawing closer to God and following his will. Become a living sacrifice, even if all you have to show for it at the end is a rose and a scarf. It will be enough."
Craig Kelly is the Editorial Assistant for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing. This is his first publication.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, August 24, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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.
