Jerry Springer
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Jerry Springer" by C. David McKirachan
"Circumstantial Evidence" by C. David McKirachan
"People and Sheep" by Larry Winebrenner
"Learning to Pray" by Larry Winebrenner
"The Wall" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
Jerry Springer
by C. David McKirachan
Genesis 29:15-28
The first time I stumbled across the show that courts and rewards insanity in front of millions of open-mouthed viewers is a dim recollection. It had to do with a sojourn away from work because of the flu. Every once in a while fever and a cough that rattles the toe nails demand that I stop; working, reading, writing, driving, functioning as a productive person. At such moments I have just enough energy to push the channel button once every few minutes and stare at the emptiness of day-time television. If I'm lucky there are reruns of Star Trek, X-files, or some movie that allows me to relax enough to drift off and indulge in dreams that resemble science fiction fantasies. On one such occasion, I tripped over Jerry Springer. There are few things I can't imagine but one of them is why people watch such things. It took me a full ten seconds to make my thumb work the channel changer, but in those ten seconds, I was offended. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't the ridiculous, relationally kinky, passionless, conflictually shallow drivel that was being slung across the airwaves that offended me. It was the simple fact that people watched this stuff on a regular basis. I panted with relief to get to the game show re-run on the next channel up the scale. I felt like I'd made it to base. After sitting there for a minute with my eyes shut I came to the firm conclusion that our culture is as strange as anything in history's arcane archive. Caligula has nothing on us.
Just so we don't get too high and mighty about our elevated position as thinking Christians, people of faith, living in a focused and moral journey with our Lord, we run into Laban and Jacob, making deals with Leah and Rachael as chips on the table. I think the bunch should go on the show. It would make a great one, don't you think? How I ripped off my father with my mother's help and then got ripped off on my wedding night with the weak sighted sister, and I'm still in love. What a show!
There is something amazingly courageous about our scripture. It not only speaks in terms of magnificent poetry, of focused ethics, of heart-rending heroism, of beautiful self-sacrifice, it includes some of the most ridiculously convoluted, sadly small-minded bits of humanity that one can come across in literature, holy or otherwise. These are the ones that established our heritage? Couldn't the writers, J, E, P, or D have found a few more uplifting examples to lift up?
Of course they could. But then it wouldn't be a scripture that involved human beings. This is who we are, without the air brush. It's not all of who we are, but it's some of who we are, and that's a fact. Whatever position we have risen to, we have a bit of this running through us, all of us. It's why we need to care about all of us, even the ones that are easily categorized or profiled or set aside as being beneath or below our high and mighty consideration.
Besides, this is the same Jacob who wrestled with God. Now we're moving on to WWF Wrestling. ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?
Circumstantial Evidence
by C. David McKirachan
Romans 8:26-39
There's usually a break in "normal days," between four and seven. I could fill those hours with plenty of other stuff but usually I'm fried by that time and schlumping is just about all I'm good for. "Shlumping" is the action of sitting on a sofa or other soft furniture, slouching into a position that would make my mother and chiropractor shake fingers, holding a remote control in whichever hand happens to grab it first, eyes peeled to a tube (we have an old-fashioned television). What I watch for at least 45 minutes could be a Yankees game (reruns are acceptable), a Giants game (reruns are acceptable), Star Trek (reruns are all that's left), Dr. Who (no one's sure what's a rerun), Criminal Minds (reruns are all that's on that time of day), or any of the CSI shows (in rerun). I like forensic stuff. It's interesting to see how the tiniest particle can tell a tale. All of them focus on forensic evidence -- that which is physical, touchable, measurable. Maybe it's a reaction to all the circumstantial issues that I have to wrestle with every day.
The classical worldview limited forensic stuff to its smallest sphere, "sarks." Physical stuff made of dead matter was the least powerful. They saw that it has no options of its own. Add life to the dead stuff and you have the possibility of manipulation and even some control. So the physical stuff, let's say it's a golf ball, is surrounded by a volleyball of dead stuff plus living stuff, "sukae." Everything we call fact or truth in this culture tends to be limited to these two spheres. Science and its handmaiden, technology, have no use for anything else. If you can't measure it or touch it in some way shape or form, it's not real.
But there's another sphere. Surrounding the volleyball with the golf ball inside is the BIG picture, "peneuma." It is the sphere of the spirit, as Paul would say, powers and principalities reside in this sphere. From our perspective, it is endless. If you are to have true power over the other two you have to be willing to climb above them into this eternal perspective.
When Paul says he is convinced, absolutely persuaded, his reasoning, from a forensic perspective, is a bit muddled. Admittedly, he refers to Jesus, who was of the volleyball-golf ball world. But this business of the spiritual powers that are so important to Paul's reasoning and proof, and his statement of being absolutely convinced, seems awfully circumstantial.
That's the point, isn't it? That's why Paul got so hot about never again preaching a reasonable gospel, after his "Temple to the Unknown God" sermon in Athens. "I will preach Christ crucified a stumbling block and a folly..." I'm afraid none of the lab geeks would approve of his reasoning or my acceptance of it. There is no such thing as a reasonable gospel, according to the rules of this world. The gospel transcends such reasoning and points to another place. They would shake their heads and say with scientific frowns, "That's nothing but circumstantial evidence." From their small perspective, they are right. Just because their small perspective happens to be the fad of the moment, doesn't change the truth that we live by. A rabbi friend of mine once said, "Anybody who says they can put God in a box is wrong." I guess that's circumstantial too.
So much for CSI. I guess it is okay to indulge when "shlumping," as long as you don't add potato chips.
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).
People and Sheep
by Larry Winebrenner
Genesis 29:15-28
The little lamb asked Mother Ewe, "Mommy! What is all that noise? I've never heard noise like that. Will it hurt us?"
"That's a wedding feast, my darling child," she said, moving more closely to him. "You don't have to worry." But there was fear in her voice.
"What's a wedding feast?" asked the lamb.
How could Mother Ewe explain it was a time when their masters roasted little lambs and ate them? Would her child be a victim this time? Is that why they were moved from pasture to sheep pen? Even if she had heard the raucous singing of the field hands brought in to enjoy the feast, she still would have feared for her child. She answered her child's impatient bleating, if only to quiet him that no attention be brought to him.
"It is a party where masters form a family in a ceremony."
"Do we have a family?" asked the little one.
"No. People are not like sheep."
After a number of nights of music and loud talking and music, the master's home became quiet. Mother Ewe's heart calmed. It meant the celebration was near the end. If so, her child was safe.
Probably.
"Why is it so quiet?" asked the lamb.
"The master and mistress have gone to their bed to consummate the marriage."
"What's con-uh consumay?"
It was the eternal child's question that mothers dreaded. But the little one was too young to understand a full explanation.
"It means the master and mistress get close together to remain together forever," she said.
"Like you and me mommy." It was not a question.
"Go to sleep, darling," said Mother Ewe.
"Laban!" broke the morning stillness. "This is not Rachel!"
Mother Ewe did not understand people-talk, but she did understand anger. When the masters began to battle, it was often the sheep that suffered. And so it seemed. One of the keepers grasped her child from her side. The people-talk continued.
"Jacob. Jacob," soothed Laban's voice. "I know I promised you Rachael. But you know our customs. A younger daughter cannot be given in marriage before the elder daughter."
"You promised me Rachael!" shouted Jacob.
"And you shall have Rachael," soothed Laban. "You complete the week's consummation with Leah. That frees Rachael to be married. After the week, you can marry Rachael." He held up a lamb.
It was Mother Ewe's child. She didn't know what was going on but so far they had not taken her child to the butchering block.
Laban's daughters stood before their father.
Leah smug. Her father had gotten her a husband, as he had promised.
Rachael was furious for having to keep the subterfuge secret all during the wedding feast. Right up until the moment Leah accompanied her, purportedly to help her with the wedding dress and veil. Only, as ordered by her father, she dressed Leah and stayed hidden. Would Jacob ever forgive her?
The lamb Laban held up was Mother Ewe's child. Her heart sank. She wished with all her heart she could understand people-talk. She recognized the shepherd's voice but never understood what he said.
"Here is the lamb for the wedding feast," said Laban. "We will fatten it during the week and prepare the feast the morning you emerge on the seventh day."
"I want no feast. I only want Rachael."
Wiley old Laban's mind perceived the opportunity ardor brings.
"Then you can consummate your marriage to Rachael the following week. But, of course, you did promise to serve me seven years."
"So I've done," growled Jacob.
"For the wife you have. Of course, if you don't want to, Rachael has a number of suitors waiting in line."
Rachael's heart sank. Would Jacob agree? There was so much hatred and fury in his eyes. She grabbed the lamb.
"There will be no feast with this lamb," she announced. "It is the first sheep in a flock we will grow as numerous as the wildflowers on yonder hills."
Everyone automatically looked at the hills. They were dotted with spots of white and blue and red. Mother Ewe looked at what they were looking at. What was so interesting about the pasture?
"I'll do it," said Jacob. "Beginning the eighth day of my present marriage."
Rachel hugged the lamb to her breast and said, "We're going to have a long life together."
Little lamb didn't understand people-talk but he did understand love.
So did Mother Ewe. Maybe people and sheep are alike, she thought.
Learning to Pray
by Larry Winebrenner
Romans 8:26-39
Cicero had spent a year as a postulant at the Trappist Monastery in the rugged and beautiful mountains in Utah. He now had to inform the abbot whether he was prepared to enter the discipline for another year as a novice.
"Brother Cicero," began the gentle master, "Tell me what appealed to you as a postulant and what perplexed you."
This didn't sound like an inquisition, his fear of what the interview would entail. He licked his lips and simply said, "Everything."
The old abbot smiled and inquired, "Appealed or perplexed?"
Cicero forced the laughter back to keep it from erupting. Nervous? Relief? He didn't know, but he managed to hold back his feelings with a wide grin.
"Father," he said. "I love the contemplative silence, the feeling of belonging, the grandeur of the mountains, the repetitive psalm singing in the chapel 24 hours a day, the simple food, the pleasure of falling asleep on a hard plank-bunk in my cell at night, the discipline..."
It was hard to remember all the things that thrilled him, there were so many. He was ready to take permanent lifetime vows right now.
Except...
The abbot read his look. "What perplexes you?"
"I'm going to have to leave."
If the abbot were surprised, Cicero couldn't tell. The old father's only motion was to finger his cross fastened to the sash around his habit.
"Bad dreams?" suggested the abbot. He had interviewed dozens of postulants. All seemed to have problems. Some were genuine problems. Those never made it through the novitiate stage. Some were mostly imagined. They generally made it to full membership in the order. He was confident Cicero's problems were imaginary. He was certain Cicero would quickly be ready to take permanent vows.
"I don't know how to pray," said Cicero.
The abbot showed genuine surprise.
"Can't pray?" burst from his lips. "You've been here for a year. I've noticed you. Surely you were in prayer."
"I'm sorry, Father, but I assure you I was never in prayer. I tried. You don't know how I tried. But God was never there."
"God is always there," insisted the abbot.
"Not for me." It was almost a sob.
The abbot did the almost unheard of action. He moved beside the young man and placed an arm around him. He spoke softly into Cicero's ear.
"I think the first session of the interview is over."
"The first session?"
"Yes. I want you to read Romans 8 and especially from verse 26 on. Don't try to pray. Just read the passage and meditate on it. Read it until you can recite it without reading. Meditate on each verse. Continue this all night. Then come to see me at sun-up for our second session."
"Yes sir," said Cicero.
"Did you get the passage?
"Yes sir," said Cicero.
The abbot looked like he was going to ask Cicero to repeat it but patted him on the shoulder and said, "'Til sun-up, then."
He walked into his cell without looking back -- a cell no larger than the one where Cicero would sit and read scripture by candlelight and meditate all night.
Cicero's cell was not where he could see the sunrise. From habit he was up at daybreak to watch the sunbeams peeping over the rugged mountain skyline. He saw them shooting through breaks in the clouds like the laser rays he remembered seen in TV movies as a kid.
He placed his Bible on the primitive altar he had built in one corner of the cell. No need of it now. He could recite the passage from memory.
He began to murmur, "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought..."
He pulled on his cassock and blew out the candle. Soon he was on the steps leading to the sanctuary. When the first ray sawed through the valley between two peaks, he headed for the abbot's office near his cell door.
The abbot was waiting.
"Come assist me with the Daily Office," he told Cicero.
Assist the abbot? Only the monks of longest service did that.
"We will proceed with the second session after that."
"We don't need a second session." Misery punctuated the assertion.
Uncharacteristically, the abbot stopped and swung around.
"I know the passage by heart," said Cicero. "I know what it says and I understand what it says. I just have never experienced the Spirit interceding with sighs too deep for words. Father, it is hopeless. I do not know how to pray."
"You know how to help me with the Daily Office," he bit out. "Follow me." He turned and continued to the sanctuary.
When they arrived, one choir was departing down the left aisle singing the 150th Psalm. A second choir was entering through the right aisle singing Psalm 1. The abbot approached the massive altar with the host, ready to lift it in that part of the liturgy.
Why hadn't the wine and bread been placed there as usual?
Suddenly the giant chandelier began to sway. Singers shuffled their feet to keep their balance. Pews danced toward the altar rail. Everyone viewed the walls and ceiling, fearful of collapse. One of the choir members broke and ran for the door. That triggered the rest. There was a wild rush.
Cicero looked at the abbot just in time to see him stumble and fall on the altar steps. The gigantic altar toppled. It would crush him.
Without thinking, Cicero jumped forward and placed his back against the altar, trying to force it back. It was apparent to Cicero that his efforts were in vain. He could not hold the altar. It was going to crush him and the abbot.
"Roll out of the way," he grunted.
With pain in his voice, the abbot said, "I twisted my leg when I fell. I can't move. Jump aside and save yourself."
"Oh, Lord," prayed Cicero, as the altar became too heavy to hold any longer, "receive my soul into paradise and spare this good abbot."
Suddenly the altar felt lighter. He could tip it back. He was filled with delight.
"Hold on, there," said a voice. "You'll tip it over backward."
A monk was helping the abbot from under the altar. It still rocked back and forth from aftershocks. Two other monks were holding the altar in place. Cicero kept his back against it, just to make sure.
He looked at the abbot, now sitting on a pew that had slid forward to within a foot of the altar rail. The old man had one leg on the pew and the other foot on the floor.
"Father, he told the abbot. With your injury, maybe we shouldn't have that session. Besides, I just learned to pray."
The abbot laughed. The monks standing around looked at him in astonishment.
"There are a couple of other lines in that passage I learned today, 'We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to the Lord's purpose.' "
"And the other?"
*I am convinced that
*neither death,
*nor life,
*nor angels,
*nor rulers,
*nor things present,
*nor things to come,
*nor powers,
*nor height,
*nor depth,
*nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
The Wall
by Keith Hewitt
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Nobody knew when the wall had been built. It had always been there, and as far as anyone knew it would always remain, a great stone barrier that stretched as far as the eye could see... some said it went completely around the world but nobody could say for sure. A few hearty souls had tried to follow it to its end but eventually the wall won, stretching away to apparent infinity even as their food and water ran out. There were legends of a great man, a mighty explorer, who had followed the wall until he came back to his starting point but nobody over the age of ten really believed that --
There were even more bizarre legends of those who had somehow breached the wall, and come back... but nobody over the age of five believed those... the wall was solid, impenetrable, tall as four or five men standing on each other's shoulders and utterly featureless at the top -- there was obviously no way to go through it or over it.
So the wall and what lay beyond -- if anything -- were insoluble mysteries. As with any great mystery, the people of the world just accepted it, lived with it, hardly gave it a thought as they lived their lives. It was only when the course of their life brought them close to the wall that they thought about it at all and then there might be a chill, an icy thought that something -- surely there must be something -- lay beyond that wall, forever out of touch from man, forever unknowable.
It was the "forever unknowable" concept that bothered John. As a child, and then as a teenager, his curiosity was unbridled, his mind roving back and forth across the world, casting about for knowledge the way a bloodhound sought out scents in the air. Time and again, though he lived far from it in his youth, he would travel to the wall and sit for hours, pondering its height and breadth, his mind virtually aching at the idea that there was a far side forever out of reach, beyond sight, beyond touch, beyond experience. Each time, he found it a little harder to leave, as though with each visit he was forced to leave a bit of himself behind.
He was a young man when the idea occurred to him.
One day, with a visit to the wall not too far behind him, he was preparing to plant his field when he stopped dead, his hand buried wrist-deep in a bag of seeds. The idea had just popped into his head, fully formed and smoldering in the heat of its own audacity. He stood like that for several moments thinking about the idea, walking around the structure of it and kicking its feet, poking its body to probe for flaws.
And there weren't any.
He smiled to himself and thought, for the first time, that there might be answers, after all.
Some days later, John returned to the wall. He walked along its blank, stony face for a time, looking for just the right place -- he didn't know how, but was sure he would know it when he found it. He found a place that felt right, knelt, and probed the sandy soil with a knife, then reached down and scooped out soil with his fingers, creating a deep hole that reached to the moist earth below the dry topsoil. Then, carefully, he reached into the bag slung on his shoulder and pulled out a seed.
It was barely big enough to see and when he reached down into the hole it stuck to his fingers. He rubbed them together gently, to force the seed off and into the ground, then checked his fingers to make sure it was gone before he filled in the hole, carefully packing the dirt down on top of the seed. With the seed safely buried, he stood up and anointed the spot with water from his canteen -- lots of water, enough to satisfy it while it began the hard work of growing.
John marked the spot with a cairn of small stones so he would not forget it and left the seed to do its magic.
Over the next few weeks John returned to this spot frequently. When the first green chutes appeared, his heart fluttered with hope and pride. Weeks dragged into months and he was coming back a little less frequently knowing that the work could not be rushed, patient to let the seedling develop on its own. But when, one summer day, he returned to find the soil dry, the seedling starting to wither, John poured all of the water he had onto the spot. Though it was not easy, he returned to that spot again and again, through the hot, dry season, and nurtured the seedling with fresh water.
After all, once planted, it could not grow without being fed and watered.
John waited patiently through autumn and anxiously through the winter, until spring came and brought with it green leaves and buds, tiny branches reaching toward the sky. He watched and helped as it grew threw another summer... and fall... and winter...
He watched for many seasons until the time came when the trunk of the tree was strong just a little too large for him to put his hands around, and the branches that spread from it seemed thick as well. Feeling a little foolish, he tested the branches -- reached up and pulled on one, felt it bend beneath his weight even as he stepped onto one of the lower branches. They sagged at his weight, and he dropped off at once afraid that they might break.
But they didn't.
More seasons passed and each year John tested the branches to see if they would take his weight. The day came when they would and for the first time he climbed into the tree, all the way to the top -- and found himself maybe seven or eight feet off the ground. He stood carefully, surveying the land around him, heart racing before he climbed down.
It was only a matter of time, now.
The years flowed by and with each change of season he carefully tended the tree giving it what it needed to grow stronger. At the beginning of each spring and the end of every summer, he would climb the tree, test the branches, and bring himself a little closer to the sky.
So it was that one spring day, as he climbed the tree, he could sense that he was higher than he had ever been. When he reached the top -- the highest point that he could climb -- and turned toward the wall… he found himself above the top! Heart pounding, now, his eyes fell upon the far side of the wall and they drank in the sights. The land beyond seemed to be a long way away and yet and the details were fuzzy -- but he could see! The tree could hold him high enough to see!
When he could finally bear to close his eyes, he lowered his head and gave thanks that he had been given this moment. He lingered there 'til dark, returned home, and told the others what had happened. Some didn't believe him, some couldn't be bothered to listen, but some did believe, and they followed him back to the tree when he returned. He climbed first, proved to himself that he had seen the far side, and then came down and let one of the others climb.
One by one, they climbed to the top -- and saw nothing. "What is this trickery?" they demanded. "Why are you telling us these things?"
Alarmed, now, John climbed the tree again and peered toward the other side. One hand shielding his eyes from the sun, he carefully described what he saw, as best he could. One the others quickly climbed up next to him and faced the wall, peered toward the unknown... and saw nothing.
"Why are you doing this to us?" the other man demanded. "Are you mad?"
John was silent for a long time and in the silence something spoke to him -- and he understood. He sighed, and said, "Come back tomorrow and I can explain it to you."
The others grumbled, but as there was nothing to see they soon left, leaving him alone with his tree. John watched them leave from his place at the top of the tree and was a little sad because he knew they would not all be back the next day -- but perhaps some of them would. And to them, he owed an explanation.
Carefully, after a last look at the wonder of the far side, he climbed down from the tree. He stood staring at it for a time, then reached for the knife on his belt and approached it, began to cut.
When the others returned the next day -- as many as could be bothered to make the trip -- they found John sitting peacefully beneath the spreading canopy of the tree. "So what is this trick?" they asked. "Why are you telling us these fantastic stories?"
"In truth, I'm telling you what I see," John answered. "But these are the things that I see from this tree that was planted and grown for me. You can't see them because this tree is a gift to me, it's my way of looking beyond the wall. In order for you to be lifted up and to see the other side, you will have to grow and climb your own trees. Otherwise, you will just have to be content with me telling you what I see."
"But that takes too long!" one of the men said. "I want to see now!" Others agreed, and a few just turned and walked away.
John stood up and uncovered a row of fresh cuttings, wrapped in wet cloths. "I tell you the truth," John said. "If you plant these and tend to them, nurturing them when you must, they will grow -- and eventually the trees you planted will be tall and strong enough to let you see what lies beyond the wall for yourself." He picked one up, held it toward them. "Believe me about this, and one day you will be able to see the truth with your own eyes. And every time you look, you will see a bit more, see a little farther."
There was a long silence, and then one by one, they began to take the cuttings.
Nobody knew when the wall had been built -- but one day, everyone would know when the forest beside it had been planted…
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.
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StoryShare, July 24, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"Jerry Springer" by C. David McKirachan
"Circumstantial Evidence" by C. David McKirachan
"People and Sheep" by Larry Winebrenner
"Learning to Pray" by Larry Winebrenner
"The Wall" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
Jerry Springer
by C. David McKirachan
Genesis 29:15-28
The first time I stumbled across the show that courts and rewards insanity in front of millions of open-mouthed viewers is a dim recollection. It had to do with a sojourn away from work because of the flu. Every once in a while fever and a cough that rattles the toe nails demand that I stop; working, reading, writing, driving, functioning as a productive person. At such moments I have just enough energy to push the channel button once every few minutes and stare at the emptiness of day-time television. If I'm lucky there are reruns of Star Trek, X-files, or some movie that allows me to relax enough to drift off and indulge in dreams that resemble science fiction fantasies. On one such occasion, I tripped over Jerry Springer. There are few things I can't imagine but one of them is why people watch such things. It took me a full ten seconds to make my thumb work the channel changer, but in those ten seconds, I was offended. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't the ridiculous, relationally kinky, passionless, conflictually shallow drivel that was being slung across the airwaves that offended me. It was the simple fact that people watched this stuff on a regular basis. I panted with relief to get to the game show re-run on the next channel up the scale. I felt like I'd made it to base. After sitting there for a minute with my eyes shut I came to the firm conclusion that our culture is as strange as anything in history's arcane archive. Caligula has nothing on us.
Just so we don't get too high and mighty about our elevated position as thinking Christians, people of faith, living in a focused and moral journey with our Lord, we run into Laban and Jacob, making deals with Leah and Rachael as chips on the table. I think the bunch should go on the show. It would make a great one, don't you think? How I ripped off my father with my mother's help and then got ripped off on my wedding night with the weak sighted sister, and I'm still in love. What a show!
There is something amazingly courageous about our scripture. It not only speaks in terms of magnificent poetry, of focused ethics, of heart-rending heroism, of beautiful self-sacrifice, it includes some of the most ridiculously convoluted, sadly small-minded bits of humanity that one can come across in literature, holy or otherwise. These are the ones that established our heritage? Couldn't the writers, J, E, P, or D have found a few more uplifting examples to lift up?
Of course they could. But then it wouldn't be a scripture that involved human beings. This is who we are, without the air brush. It's not all of who we are, but it's some of who we are, and that's a fact. Whatever position we have risen to, we have a bit of this running through us, all of us. It's why we need to care about all of us, even the ones that are easily categorized or profiled or set aside as being beneath or below our high and mighty consideration.
Besides, this is the same Jacob who wrestled with God. Now we're moving on to WWF Wrestling. ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?
Circumstantial Evidence
by C. David McKirachan
Romans 8:26-39
There's usually a break in "normal days," between four and seven. I could fill those hours with plenty of other stuff but usually I'm fried by that time and schlumping is just about all I'm good for. "Shlumping" is the action of sitting on a sofa or other soft furniture, slouching into a position that would make my mother and chiropractor shake fingers, holding a remote control in whichever hand happens to grab it first, eyes peeled to a tube (we have an old-fashioned television). What I watch for at least 45 minutes could be a Yankees game (reruns are acceptable), a Giants game (reruns are acceptable), Star Trek (reruns are all that's left), Dr. Who (no one's sure what's a rerun), Criminal Minds (reruns are all that's on that time of day), or any of the CSI shows (in rerun). I like forensic stuff. It's interesting to see how the tiniest particle can tell a tale. All of them focus on forensic evidence -- that which is physical, touchable, measurable. Maybe it's a reaction to all the circumstantial issues that I have to wrestle with every day.
The classical worldview limited forensic stuff to its smallest sphere, "sarks." Physical stuff made of dead matter was the least powerful. They saw that it has no options of its own. Add life to the dead stuff and you have the possibility of manipulation and even some control. So the physical stuff, let's say it's a golf ball, is surrounded by a volleyball of dead stuff plus living stuff, "sukae." Everything we call fact or truth in this culture tends to be limited to these two spheres. Science and its handmaiden, technology, have no use for anything else. If you can't measure it or touch it in some way shape or form, it's not real.
But there's another sphere. Surrounding the volleyball with the golf ball inside is the BIG picture, "peneuma." It is the sphere of the spirit, as Paul would say, powers and principalities reside in this sphere. From our perspective, it is endless. If you are to have true power over the other two you have to be willing to climb above them into this eternal perspective.
When Paul says he is convinced, absolutely persuaded, his reasoning, from a forensic perspective, is a bit muddled. Admittedly, he refers to Jesus, who was of the volleyball-golf ball world. But this business of the spiritual powers that are so important to Paul's reasoning and proof, and his statement of being absolutely convinced, seems awfully circumstantial.
That's the point, isn't it? That's why Paul got so hot about never again preaching a reasonable gospel, after his "Temple to the Unknown God" sermon in Athens. "I will preach Christ crucified a stumbling block and a folly..." I'm afraid none of the lab geeks would approve of his reasoning or my acceptance of it. There is no such thing as a reasonable gospel, according to the rules of this world. The gospel transcends such reasoning and points to another place. They would shake their heads and say with scientific frowns, "That's nothing but circumstantial evidence." From their small perspective, they are right. Just because their small perspective happens to be the fad of the moment, doesn't change the truth that we live by. A rabbi friend of mine once said, "Anybody who says they can put God in a box is wrong." I guess that's circumstantial too.
So much for CSI. I guess it is okay to indulge when "shlumping," as long as you don't add potato chips.
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).
People and Sheep
by Larry Winebrenner
Genesis 29:15-28
The little lamb asked Mother Ewe, "Mommy! What is all that noise? I've never heard noise like that. Will it hurt us?"
"That's a wedding feast, my darling child," she said, moving more closely to him. "You don't have to worry." But there was fear in her voice.
"What's a wedding feast?" asked the lamb.
How could Mother Ewe explain it was a time when their masters roasted little lambs and ate them? Would her child be a victim this time? Is that why they were moved from pasture to sheep pen? Even if she had heard the raucous singing of the field hands brought in to enjoy the feast, she still would have feared for her child. She answered her child's impatient bleating, if only to quiet him that no attention be brought to him.
"It is a party where masters form a family in a ceremony."
"Do we have a family?" asked the little one.
"No. People are not like sheep."
After a number of nights of music and loud talking and music, the master's home became quiet. Mother Ewe's heart calmed. It meant the celebration was near the end. If so, her child was safe.
Probably.
"Why is it so quiet?" asked the lamb.
"The master and mistress have gone to their bed to consummate the marriage."
"What's con-uh consumay?"
It was the eternal child's question that mothers dreaded. But the little one was too young to understand a full explanation.
"It means the master and mistress get close together to remain together forever," she said.
"Like you and me mommy." It was not a question.
"Go to sleep, darling," said Mother Ewe.
"Laban!" broke the morning stillness. "This is not Rachel!"
Mother Ewe did not understand people-talk, but she did understand anger. When the masters began to battle, it was often the sheep that suffered. And so it seemed. One of the keepers grasped her child from her side. The people-talk continued.
"Jacob. Jacob," soothed Laban's voice. "I know I promised you Rachael. But you know our customs. A younger daughter cannot be given in marriage before the elder daughter."
"You promised me Rachael!" shouted Jacob.
"And you shall have Rachael," soothed Laban. "You complete the week's consummation with Leah. That frees Rachael to be married. After the week, you can marry Rachael." He held up a lamb.
It was Mother Ewe's child. She didn't know what was going on but so far they had not taken her child to the butchering block.
Laban's daughters stood before their father.
Leah smug. Her father had gotten her a husband, as he had promised.
Rachael was furious for having to keep the subterfuge secret all during the wedding feast. Right up until the moment Leah accompanied her, purportedly to help her with the wedding dress and veil. Only, as ordered by her father, she dressed Leah and stayed hidden. Would Jacob ever forgive her?
The lamb Laban held up was Mother Ewe's child. Her heart sank. She wished with all her heart she could understand people-talk. She recognized the shepherd's voice but never understood what he said.
"Here is the lamb for the wedding feast," said Laban. "We will fatten it during the week and prepare the feast the morning you emerge on the seventh day."
"I want no feast. I only want Rachael."
Wiley old Laban's mind perceived the opportunity ardor brings.
"Then you can consummate your marriage to Rachael the following week. But, of course, you did promise to serve me seven years."
"So I've done," growled Jacob.
"For the wife you have. Of course, if you don't want to, Rachael has a number of suitors waiting in line."
Rachael's heart sank. Would Jacob agree? There was so much hatred and fury in his eyes. She grabbed the lamb.
"There will be no feast with this lamb," she announced. "It is the first sheep in a flock we will grow as numerous as the wildflowers on yonder hills."
Everyone automatically looked at the hills. They were dotted with spots of white and blue and red. Mother Ewe looked at what they were looking at. What was so interesting about the pasture?
"I'll do it," said Jacob. "Beginning the eighth day of my present marriage."
Rachel hugged the lamb to her breast and said, "We're going to have a long life together."
Little lamb didn't understand people-talk but he did understand love.
So did Mother Ewe. Maybe people and sheep are alike, she thought.
Learning to Pray
by Larry Winebrenner
Romans 8:26-39
Cicero had spent a year as a postulant at the Trappist Monastery in the rugged and beautiful mountains in Utah. He now had to inform the abbot whether he was prepared to enter the discipline for another year as a novice.
"Brother Cicero," began the gentle master, "Tell me what appealed to you as a postulant and what perplexed you."
This didn't sound like an inquisition, his fear of what the interview would entail. He licked his lips and simply said, "Everything."
The old abbot smiled and inquired, "Appealed or perplexed?"
Cicero forced the laughter back to keep it from erupting. Nervous? Relief? He didn't know, but he managed to hold back his feelings with a wide grin.
"Father," he said. "I love the contemplative silence, the feeling of belonging, the grandeur of the mountains, the repetitive psalm singing in the chapel 24 hours a day, the simple food, the pleasure of falling asleep on a hard plank-bunk in my cell at night, the discipline..."
It was hard to remember all the things that thrilled him, there were so many. He was ready to take permanent lifetime vows right now.
Except...
The abbot read his look. "What perplexes you?"
"I'm going to have to leave."
If the abbot were surprised, Cicero couldn't tell. The old father's only motion was to finger his cross fastened to the sash around his habit.
"Bad dreams?" suggested the abbot. He had interviewed dozens of postulants. All seemed to have problems. Some were genuine problems. Those never made it through the novitiate stage. Some were mostly imagined. They generally made it to full membership in the order. He was confident Cicero's problems were imaginary. He was certain Cicero would quickly be ready to take permanent vows.
"I don't know how to pray," said Cicero.
The abbot showed genuine surprise.
"Can't pray?" burst from his lips. "You've been here for a year. I've noticed you. Surely you were in prayer."
"I'm sorry, Father, but I assure you I was never in prayer. I tried. You don't know how I tried. But God was never there."
"God is always there," insisted the abbot.
"Not for me." It was almost a sob.
The abbot did the almost unheard of action. He moved beside the young man and placed an arm around him. He spoke softly into Cicero's ear.
"I think the first session of the interview is over."
"The first session?"
"Yes. I want you to read Romans 8 and especially from verse 26 on. Don't try to pray. Just read the passage and meditate on it. Read it until you can recite it without reading. Meditate on each verse. Continue this all night. Then come to see me at sun-up for our second session."
"Yes sir," said Cicero.
"Did you get the passage?
"Yes sir," said Cicero.
The abbot looked like he was going to ask Cicero to repeat it but patted him on the shoulder and said, "'Til sun-up, then."
He walked into his cell without looking back -- a cell no larger than the one where Cicero would sit and read scripture by candlelight and meditate all night.
Cicero's cell was not where he could see the sunrise. From habit he was up at daybreak to watch the sunbeams peeping over the rugged mountain skyline. He saw them shooting through breaks in the clouds like the laser rays he remembered seen in TV movies as a kid.
He placed his Bible on the primitive altar he had built in one corner of the cell. No need of it now. He could recite the passage from memory.
He began to murmur, "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought..."
He pulled on his cassock and blew out the candle. Soon he was on the steps leading to the sanctuary. When the first ray sawed through the valley between two peaks, he headed for the abbot's office near his cell door.
The abbot was waiting.
"Come assist me with the Daily Office," he told Cicero.
Assist the abbot? Only the monks of longest service did that.
"We will proceed with the second session after that."
"We don't need a second session." Misery punctuated the assertion.
Uncharacteristically, the abbot stopped and swung around.
"I know the passage by heart," said Cicero. "I know what it says and I understand what it says. I just have never experienced the Spirit interceding with sighs too deep for words. Father, it is hopeless. I do not know how to pray."
"You know how to help me with the Daily Office," he bit out. "Follow me." He turned and continued to the sanctuary.
When they arrived, one choir was departing down the left aisle singing the 150th Psalm. A second choir was entering through the right aisle singing Psalm 1. The abbot approached the massive altar with the host, ready to lift it in that part of the liturgy.
Why hadn't the wine and bread been placed there as usual?
Suddenly the giant chandelier began to sway. Singers shuffled their feet to keep their balance. Pews danced toward the altar rail. Everyone viewed the walls and ceiling, fearful of collapse. One of the choir members broke and ran for the door. That triggered the rest. There was a wild rush.
Cicero looked at the abbot just in time to see him stumble and fall on the altar steps. The gigantic altar toppled. It would crush him.
Without thinking, Cicero jumped forward and placed his back against the altar, trying to force it back. It was apparent to Cicero that his efforts were in vain. He could not hold the altar. It was going to crush him and the abbot.
"Roll out of the way," he grunted.
With pain in his voice, the abbot said, "I twisted my leg when I fell. I can't move. Jump aside and save yourself."
"Oh, Lord," prayed Cicero, as the altar became too heavy to hold any longer, "receive my soul into paradise and spare this good abbot."
Suddenly the altar felt lighter. He could tip it back. He was filled with delight.
"Hold on, there," said a voice. "You'll tip it over backward."
A monk was helping the abbot from under the altar. It still rocked back and forth from aftershocks. Two other monks were holding the altar in place. Cicero kept his back against it, just to make sure.
He looked at the abbot, now sitting on a pew that had slid forward to within a foot of the altar rail. The old man had one leg on the pew and the other foot on the floor.
"Father, he told the abbot. With your injury, maybe we shouldn't have that session. Besides, I just learned to pray."
The abbot laughed. The monks standing around looked at him in astonishment.
"There are a couple of other lines in that passage I learned today, 'We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to the Lord's purpose.' "
"And the other?"
*I am convinced that
*neither death,
*nor life,
*nor angels,
*nor rulers,
*nor things present,
*nor things to come,
*nor powers,
*nor height,
*nor depth,
*nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
The Wall
by Keith Hewitt
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Nobody knew when the wall had been built. It had always been there, and as far as anyone knew it would always remain, a great stone barrier that stretched as far as the eye could see... some said it went completely around the world but nobody could say for sure. A few hearty souls had tried to follow it to its end but eventually the wall won, stretching away to apparent infinity even as their food and water ran out. There were legends of a great man, a mighty explorer, who had followed the wall until he came back to his starting point but nobody over the age of ten really believed that --
There were even more bizarre legends of those who had somehow breached the wall, and come back... but nobody over the age of five believed those... the wall was solid, impenetrable, tall as four or five men standing on each other's shoulders and utterly featureless at the top -- there was obviously no way to go through it or over it.
So the wall and what lay beyond -- if anything -- were insoluble mysteries. As with any great mystery, the people of the world just accepted it, lived with it, hardly gave it a thought as they lived their lives. It was only when the course of their life brought them close to the wall that they thought about it at all and then there might be a chill, an icy thought that something -- surely there must be something -- lay beyond that wall, forever out of touch from man, forever unknowable.
It was the "forever unknowable" concept that bothered John. As a child, and then as a teenager, his curiosity was unbridled, his mind roving back and forth across the world, casting about for knowledge the way a bloodhound sought out scents in the air. Time and again, though he lived far from it in his youth, he would travel to the wall and sit for hours, pondering its height and breadth, his mind virtually aching at the idea that there was a far side forever out of reach, beyond sight, beyond touch, beyond experience. Each time, he found it a little harder to leave, as though with each visit he was forced to leave a bit of himself behind.
He was a young man when the idea occurred to him.
One day, with a visit to the wall not too far behind him, he was preparing to plant his field when he stopped dead, his hand buried wrist-deep in a bag of seeds. The idea had just popped into his head, fully formed and smoldering in the heat of its own audacity. He stood like that for several moments thinking about the idea, walking around the structure of it and kicking its feet, poking its body to probe for flaws.
And there weren't any.
He smiled to himself and thought, for the first time, that there might be answers, after all.
Some days later, John returned to the wall. He walked along its blank, stony face for a time, looking for just the right place -- he didn't know how, but was sure he would know it when he found it. He found a place that felt right, knelt, and probed the sandy soil with a knife, then reached down and scooped out soil with his fingers, creating a deep hole that reached to the moist earth below the dry topsoil. Then, carefully, he reached into the bag slung on his shoulder and pulled out a seed.
It was barely big enough to see and when he reached down into the hole it stuck to his fingers. He rubbed them together gently, to force the seed off and into the ground, then checked his fingers to make sure it was gone before he filled in the hole, carefully packing the dirt down on top of the seed. With the seed safely buried, he stood up and anointed the spot with water from his canteen -- lots of water, enough to satisfy it while it began the hard work of growing.
John marked the spot with a cairn of small stones so he would not forget it and left the seed to do its magic.
Over the next few weeks John returned to this spot frequently. When the first green chutes appeared, his heart fluttered with hope and pride. Weeks dragged into months and he was coming back a little less frequently knowing that the work could not be rushed, patient to let the seedling develop on its own. But when, one summer day, he returned to find the soil dry, the seedling starting to wither, John poured all of the water he had onto the spot. Though it was not easy, he returned to that spot again and again, through the hot, dry season, and nurtured the seedling with fresh water.
After all, once planted, it could not grow without being fed and watered.
John waited patiently through autumn and anxiously through the winter, until spring came and brought with it green leaves and buds, tiny branches reaching toward the sky. He watched and helped as it grew threw another summer... and fall... and winter...
He watched for many seasons until the time came when the trunk of the tree was strong just a little too large for him to put his hands around, and the branches that spread from it seemed thick as well. Feeling a little foolish, he tested the branches -- reached up and pulled on one, felt it bend beneath his weight even as he stepped onto one of the lower branches. They sagged at his weight, and he dropped off at once afraid that they might break.
But they didn't.
More seasons passed and each year John tested the branches to see if they would take his weight. The day came when they would and for the first time he climbed into the tree, all the way to the top -- and found himself maybe seven or eight feet off the ground. He stood carefully, surveying the land around him, heart racing before he climbed down.
It was only a matter of time, now.
The years flowed by and with each change of season he carefully tended the tree giving it what it needed to grow stronger. At the beginning of each spring and the end of every summer, he would climb the tree, test the branches, and bring himself a little closer to the sky.
So it was that one spring day, as he climbed the tree, he could sense that he was higher than he had ever been. When he reached the top -- the highest point that he could climb -- and turned toward the wall… he found himself above the top! Heart pounding, now, his eyes fell upon the far side of the wall and they drank in the sights. The land beyond seemed to be a long way away and yet and the details were fuzzy -- but he could see! The tree could hold him high enough to see!
When he could finally bear to close his eyes, he lowered his head and gave thanks that he had been given this moment. He lingered there 'til dark, returned home, and told the others what had happened. Some didn't believe him, some couldn't be bothered to listen, but some did believe, and they followed him back to the tree when he returned. He climbed first, proved to himself that he had seen the far side, and then came down and let one of the others climb.
One by one, they climbed to the top -- and saw nothing. "What is this trickery?" they demanded. "Why are you telling us these things?"
Alarmed, now, John climbed the tree again and peered toward the other side. One hand shielding his eyes from the sun, he carefully described what he saw, as best he could. One the others quickly climbed up next to him and faced the wall, peered toward the unknown... and saw nothing.
"Why are you doing this to us?" the other man demanded. "Are you mad?"
John was silent for a long time and in the silence something spoke to him -- and he understood. He sighed, and said, "Come back tomorrow and I can explain it to you."
The others grumbled, but as there was nothing to see they soon left, leaving him alone with his tree. John watched them leave from his place at the top of the tree and was a little sad because he knew they would not all be back the next day -- but perhaps some of them would. And to them, he owed an explanation.
Carefully, after a last look at the wonder of the far side, he climbed down from the tree. He stood staring at it for a time, then reached for the knife on his belt and approached it, began to cut.
When the others returned the next day -- as many as could be bothered to make the trip -- they found John sitting peacefully beneath the spreading canopy of the tree. "So what is this trick?" they asked. "Why are you telling us these fantastic stories?"
"In truth, I'm telling you what I see," John answered. "But these are the things that I see from this tree that was planted and grown for me. You can't see them because this tree is a gift to me, it's my way of looking beyond the wall. In order for you to be lifted up and to see the other side, you will have to grow and climb your own trees. Otherwise, you will just have to be content with me telling you what I see."
"But that takes too long!" one of the men said. "I want to see now!" Others agreed, and a few just turned and walked away.
John stood up and uncovered a row of fresh cuttings, wrapped in wet cloths. "I tell you the truth," John said. "If you plant these and tend to them, nurturing them when you must, they will grow -- and eventually the trees you planted will be tall and strong enough to let you see what lies beyond the wall for yourself." He picked one up, held it toward them. "Believe me about this, and one day you will be able to see the truth with your own eyes. And every time you look, you will see a bit more, see a little farther."
There was a long silence, and then one by one, they began to take the cuttings.
Nobody knew when the wall had been built -- but one day, everyone would know when the forest beside it had been planted…
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.
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StoryShare, July 24, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
