Joelito's Legacy
Illustration
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Joelito's Legacy"
Good Stories: "Getting Up the Courage" by Sandra Herrmann
"Sutton's Folly" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "What Are Your Priorities?" by C. David McKirachan
"And They Followed Him?" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Following up on last week's theme of hearing and answering God's call, this week's edition of StoryShare again features stories touching on various aspects of how God calls us. In A Story to Live By, there's a heart-rending account of the consequences that sometimes await those who faithfully follow God's path, and in Good Stories there are two insightful tales that will get you thinking about our true priorities. In the Scrap Pile, we offer two thoughtful meditations, one on Paul's call to focus on spreading the Good News and one on this week's Gospel lesson in which Jesus calls us to drop everything and follow him.
A Story to Live By
Joelito's Legacy
by Constance Berg
"Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I will tell you."
Jonah 3:2
The prophet Jonah was commanded by God to go to Nineveh; Joel Filartiga was inspired to go to Paraguay. Jonah knew the journey and its destination would not be kind; Paraguay has not been kind to Joel Filartiga. Jonah obeyed God's call and went to Nineveh, even though he knew he it would be difficult; Joel Filartiga obeyed God's call and went to Paraguay, and his life would never be the same.
Joel Filartiga is a doctor who has dedicated his practice to healing the poorest of the poor in the remote village of Ybyqui, Paraguay. His patients come in horse-drawn carts. They walk from great distances. Dr. Filartiga spends long hours attending the needs of the people -- both physically and spiritually.
Dr. Filartiga knows his patients because he and his wife Nidia live and work among these Guarani-speaking people. He has committed his professional life to live among the Paraguayans in this rural setting. He has also sacrificed his personal life to the Paraguayans.
Dr. Filartiga paid a huge price for his attention to the poor and sharing his beliefs. The police kidnapped his 17-year-old son Joelito, and within a few hours tortured him to death. The police felt the father could not be stopped in his effort to bring the plight of the poor to justice. It was against his beliefs for the oppressed to continue being oppressed. It was not Christian.
Joel and Nidia's grief did not silence them. They kept their son's burned, tortured, and electroshocked body on the bloody mattress upon which it was found. Those who came to offer their condolences had to see the horrors that their son had to experience.
The doctor has found a way to try to deal with his circumstances. As Dr. Filartiga suffers in his heart with the people and heals them, he draws. And draws. Through his drawings, people have raised him up to be a true defender of the poor. Through his pencil, he has shown the outside world what the poor must endure. Through his pencil, he has shared the hope in Christ.
Dr. Filartiga's personal story is shared in the book Compassion by D.P. McNeill, D.A. Morrison, and H.J.M. Nouwen (Image Books Publishing, 1982). The authors tell us Dr. Filartiga is a true witness to his profession and his faith: "crying out with those in pain; tending the wounds of the poor; defending the weak and daring to accuse those who violate their humanity; joining in the struggle for justice and a willingness to lay down your life for friends." Dr. Filartiga and his wife have been called to Paraguay. They will continue to share the gospel and care for the sick as long as they are able. God's will cannot be stopped.
Dr. Filartiga is sponsored by the Interreligious Foundation for Community Organization (418 W. 145th St., New York, NY 10031) www.ifconews.org
Good Stories
Getting Up the Courage
by Sandra Herrmann
The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, "Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you."
Jonah 3:1-2
Julie hadn't been able to think of anything for a month but a problem she was having at the office. She had prayed about it. She had even talked to her pastor, but she wasn't happy with what Pastor Anne had recommended.
"If the language your coworkers are using is offensive to you, why not tell them so? I think most people use whatever level of language they think is acceptable. If they understood that it hurts you to hear the Lord's name taken in vain, it would at least make them think," Pastor Anne said.
Julie had shaken her head. Anne was a sweet woman, but she didn't know these folks. Julie had tried to kid them about it. One day when Barb had really let loose over a paper jam in the copier, Julie had said with mock seriousness, "I never realized how religious you are! It's wonderful to hear people pray right out loud like that." Barb had laughed, but had just gotten worse, if anything.
Julie didn't want to make a "big deal" about it, because she liked her job and the people she worked with -- and she didn't want to be thought of as a fundamentalist. "After all," she told herself, "nobody died and made me God. It's their pastor's job to tell them, not mine." She had decided to try to ignore it.
The problem was that Pastor Anne had acted as though Julie was God's chosen messenger. "If no one says anything, how are people to know their coworkers object? If you don't speak up, who will?" Pastor Anne's words were as hard to ignore as the swearing. Julie was miserable.
At least one person in Julie's office noticed. Her supervisor called her in one afternoon and said, "Close the door, will you please? And sit down." Julie's stomach turned, especially when the supervisor folded her hands on the desk and said, "Julie, your work is not as excellent as it usually is, and I notice you've been late to work frequently lately. It looks to me as though something or someone here is bothering you. What is it?"
Julie hung her head. What could she possibly say to convey her feelings? At last she blurted it out. "You see, I really love Jesus, and it hurts me so much to hear his name used that way. I know I must sound silly and unsophisticated, but that's the way I feel."
The supervisor sat back. "No, Julie, I don't think you're silly. And there's a way to handle this that will not put you in the wrong. I'll put out an office memo establishing a policy that such language is unacceptable on the job."
Julie was amazed. The memo was received very positively. After a few days of bravado on the part of some, the incidents fell off, and the swearing was a thing of the past. The result was a much more positive attitude in the office too! Now, the only problem for Julie is when she'll get around to telling Pastor Anne how well her unwelcome advice had worked!
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Sutton's Folly
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
I mean, brothers and sisters, the appointed time has grown short; from now on, let even those who have wives be as though they had none, and those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no possessions, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it. For the present form of this world is passing away.
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Ed Weeks couldn't believe his bad luck. After 17 years of investigative reporting, he had finally gotten his big chance at an exclusive story. The contacts had all been there, his snooping had paid off, and what did it land him? Trouble, that was what. Heart-rending, life-changing trouble.
It had all begun almost eight years earlier when his best buddy and coworker, Alan Sutton, hit the big one in the lottery. Al was one of those dreamers who believed that the only thing standing between him and total happiness and success was a winning lottery number. He always said that there was no problem, no ailment, no misery that money couldn't remedy. And although most everyone else at the Times agreed, Ed had laughed at him. Ed had been raised to believe that it was how you lived and treated others, not how much cash you had, that gave value to your life. And he still believed that, even though Al Sutton tried to prove him wrong.
Al hit the jackpot just before Christmas, 1988. His ticket took the whole pot -- 28 million dollars. There had been one great Christmas and New Year's Eve party at the Press Club that year! In fact, Ed couldn't remember any break in between. The Christmas party had just kind of "rolled over" into New Year's. Al believed in sharing the wealth, so all of his buddies benefited. Of course, he left the paper. He lived the good life for four or five years, became a jetsetter. Ed got a kick out of dropping stories for the wire service with shots of Al and beautiful starlets, wealthy business and entertainment moguls, and politicians. And Al was not only good at sharing the wealth -- he made more, too. Ed figured that by 1993 Al was worth about $50 million.
It occurred to Ed that Al might have been right after all. Given enough money, the world began to look like a better place. Even though it wasn't for Ed, wealth didn't seem to be doing Al any harm. Then one day, in March of 1993, Alan Sutton disappeared.
There hadn't been any warning. Ed had spoken with Al a few days before about a story he was doing on campaign corruption: politics had always been Al's forte. Al had sounded tired, said he had a bad cold, but there was no indication of trouble. Two days later he was gone. Ed jumped right into the search. In fact, he stayed at it longer than anyone, even the rest of the gang from the Times. And before he gave it up, he laid some pretty careful information networks. If Al Sutton surfaced anywhere, Ed Weeks was most likely the first reporter who would hear about it.
But a year passed, and then two, and there was no sign of the person or wealth of Alan Sutton. Ed couldn't believe that he had done "a Howard Hughes," but there was no other explanation. Al Sutton had disappeared because he wanted to, and he'd covered his trail well. Ed Weeks put the search aside, but he didn't forget.
Then, in late September 1995, Ed got a phone call from a doctor. He said Ed had better get over to an old storefront building on East 72nd Street. He didn't have to say more.
The building was a homeless shelter. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was clean and in good repair. The director said the owner had financed everything -- repairs, furnishings, paint, food, utilities, and medical care -- for the past two years. There were 200 beds in the entire building, and they were full almost every night. There was a hot meal in the evening and a simple breakfast every morning. The owner lived on the 15th floor, and no one was allowed up there except the director and the doctor. That morning the director had found the owner near death and called the doctor, who had called Ed. Ed asked to go up.
The room was clean and warm but barren, as were all of the rooms Ed had seen downstairs, although this one had a hospital bed and a lot of medical equipment. The man on the bed was not much more than a skeleton, with angry-looking sores on his face and hands. Ed had no trouble recognizing him as Alan Sutton, though. His hands rested on a Bible that lay open on his chest. When he could make himself move, Ed stepped up to the bedside and looked down at what was left of his friend.
"Thanks for coming, Ed," the skeleton man whispered. "I didn't want anyone to see me this way, but I had to tell you. Not much time left. Had to tell you that you were right."
"Take it easy, Al. There's no rush. I'll stay right here until you've told me what you want me to hear."
Sutton's breathing wheezed shrilly. "Had to tell you that you were right. Money can't solve every problem. I wanted you to know... and I need your help."
"Tell me what you want me to do, Al," Ed said. As a war correspondent he had seen and talked to soldiers near death. He recognized the signs.
"Last will and testament," Al said, motioning weakly toward a paper sticking out of his Bible. "It's all for you... know you'll do the right thing... all for you, Ed, 'cause you know the truth."
Alan Sutton's ragged breathing grew more and more irregular as he slipped into unconsciousness. Ed Weeks watched his friend's life ebb away as the impact of Al's final request hit him.
So the world awaited a solution to a mystery disappearance almost as big as that of Jimmy Hoffa. And Ed Weeks had uncovered the answer. But Ed Weeks had also inherited $50 million. How could he write objectively now? Who would believe him? "All for you... do the right thing... 'cause you know the truth," the ragged whisper echoed as Alan Sutton died. Visions of Lear jets, yachts, penthouse apartments, and Riviera casinos flashed through Ed's mind. What was the truth? It had all seemed so simple before. Ed Weeks couldn't believe his bad luck.
(From Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Cycle B] by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt)
Scrap Pile
What Are Your Priorities?
by C. David McKirachan
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Paul's approach to the Gospel was intense, to say the least. In these verses we hear his sense that there is nothing more important in the world than being about the work of spreading the Good News.
These days we are afraid to offend anybody, so we don't push. I think we have a lot to learn from the offensive Paul. The fire in his eyes was passion that was rooted in a sure knowledge that God was in the process of making a new creation, and that each and every one of us is a partner in the business.
We just got through with Christmas. This year, because of schedules that took my loved ones to the four winds, we had to arrange a day other than the 25th to hunker down and open gifts and do the whole Santa thing. This forced me to get everything bought and wrapped and dumped under the tree a week early. On the last days of that week, very little got done except the stuff to make the celebration work. Time and the priority of the moment blew all the other things that usually dominate my attention out of the room. (Come to think of it, I doubt the dog got fed!)
We are not called to desperation. We are not called to frenzy. But we are called to treat the Gospel like the priority that it is, rather than one of the many important things that pull and push us in our living.
As far as married men acting as if they have no wives -- that's normal for this time of year. It's playoff season.
And They Followed Him?
by C. David McKirachan
Mark 1:14-20
When I was younger, I wondered why these people who became the apostles walked away from their jobs and their families so easily, just because Jesus talked to them. Were they weak-minded? Would Jesus want people who could be that easily swayed? Did he hypnotize them? Was he into mind control? None of the simple answers explained away the problems I had with "...and they left their nets and followed him."
I'd heard sermons on the power of Jesus, on the presence of God that lit him and how people were attracted to him. But my problems just wouldn't recede with the "Jesus says jump and they said how high" approach to the call of these people who were so pivotal in the dawning of the new age. Jesus constantly demanded that they wrestle with their own issues, come to their own conclusions, make choices from high ground. And he was more likely to tell them to "hoof it" than carry them there.
When I was 13, I went to church camp and had a very clear experience of salvation. I came home lit with the fire of God's love and proceeded to preach to my parents. I was devastated when they didn't praise God and fall on their knees. They told me they were happy and that this would be one of many milestones in my journey of faith. My devastation wore off. The experience and its importance still radiated the Holy Spirit's heat for me, but I realized I had a few more things to learn before I assumed it would all be downloaded at one pop. My parents' patience and unwavering willingness to be present in my life taught me more about God's call than any inspirational moment.
I have remembered that and endeavored to be a willing and patient presence in people's lives. The "patient" part gets rough sometimes. I want to do mind control on those idiots who don't agree with me. And it drives me nuts when they take a perfectly clear passage from scripture and run out into right or left field with it, proving again that left to their own they'll wander into Hell. But then I remember that it's not my job to create puppets. If God didn't, why should I try?
So I wonder about this call-response thing. I wonder how they wrestled. I wonder what issues tore and scared them. I wonder about their hungers and their needs. I wonder about their wives and their children. And I keep coming back to that patient presence that refuses to let up on any of us. Yes, they gave up a lot. They probably fought battles in the middle of the night, battles of doubt and anxiety that we will never know about except by remembering our own battles. But the gravitational love of Christ somehow would not go away. And so they left their nets and their lives behind and journeyed with him.
But sometimes I still wish I could do mind control....
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
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StoryShare, January 22, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Joelito's Legacy"
Good Stories: "Getting Up the Courage" by Sandra Herrmann
"Sutton's Folly" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "What Are Your Priorities?" by C. David McKirachan
"And They Followed Him?" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Following up on last week's theme of hearing and answering God's call, this week's edition of StoryShare again features stories touching on various aspects of how God calls us. In A Story to Live By, there's a heart-rending account of the consequences that sometimes await those who faithfully follow God's path, and in Good Stories there are two insightful tales that will get you thinking about our true priorities. In the Scrap Pile, we offer two thoughtful meditations, one on Paul's call to focus on spreading the Good News and one on this week's Gospel lesson in which Jesus calls us to drop everything and follow him.
A Story to Live By
Joelito's Legacy
by Constance Berg
"Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I will tell you."
Jonah 3:2
The prophet Jonah was commanded by God to go to Nineveh; Joel Filartiga was inspired to go to Paraguay. Jonah knew the journey and its destination would not be kind; Paraguay has not been kind to Joel Filartiga. Jonah obeyed God's call and went to Nineveh, even though he knew he it would be difficult; Joel Filartiga obeyed God's call and went to Paraguay, and his life would never be the same.
Joel Filartiga is a doctor who has dedicated his practice to healing the poorest of the poor in the remote village of Ybyqui, Paraguay. His patients come in horse-drawn carts. They walk from great distances. Dr. Filartiga spends long hours attending the needs of the people -- both physically and spiritually.
Dr. Filartiga knows his patients because he and his wife Nidia live and work among these Guarani-speaking people. He has committed his professional life to live among the Paraguayans in this rural setting. He has also sacrificed his personal life to the Paraguayans.
Dr. Filartiga paid a huge price for his attention to the poor and sharing his beliefs. The police kidnapped his 17-year-old son Joelito, and within a few hours tortured him to death. The police felt the father could not be stopped in his effort to bring the plight of the poor to justice. It was against his beliefs for the oppressed to continue being oppressed. It was not Christian.
Joel and Nidia's grief did not silence them. They kept their son's burned, tortured, and electroshocked body on the bloody mattress upon which it was found. Those who came to offer their condolences had to see the horrors that their son had to experience.
The doctor has found a way to try to deal with his circumstances. As Dr. Filartiga suffers in his heart with the people and heals them, he draws. And draws. Through his drawings, people have raised him up to be a true defender of the poor. Through his pencil, he has shown the outside world what the poor must endure. Through his pencil, he has shared the hope in Christ.
Dr. Filartiga's personal story is shared in the book Compassion by D.P. McNeill, D.A. Morrison, and H.J.M. Nouwen (Image Books Publishing, 1982). The authors tell us Dr. Filartiga is a true witness to his profession and his faith: "crying out with those in pain; tending the wounds of the poor; defending the weak and daring to accuse those who violate their humanity; joining in the struggle for justice and a willingness to lay down your life for friends." Dr. Filartiga and his wife have been called to Paraguay. They will continue to share the gospel and care for the sick as long as they are able. God's will cannot be stopped.
Dr. Filartiga is sponsored by the Interreligious Foundation for Community Organization (418 W. 145th St., New York, NY 10031) www.ifconews.org
Good Stories
Getting Up the Courage
by Sandra Herrmann
The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, "Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you."
Jonah 3:1-2
Julie hadn't been able to think of anything for a month but a problem she was having at the office. She had prayed about it. She had even talked to her pastor, but she wasn't happy with what Pastor Anne had recommended.
"If the language your coworkers are using is offensive to you, why not tell them so? I think most people use whatever level of language they think is acceptable. If they understood that it hurts you to hear the Lord's name taken in vain, it would at least make them think," Pastor Anne said.
Julie had shaken her head. Anne was a sweet woman, but she didn't know these folks. Julie had tried to kid them about it. One day when Barb had really let loose over a paper jam in the copier, Julie had said with mock seriousness, "I never realized how religious you are! It's wonderful to hear people pray right out loud like that." Barb had laughed, but had just gotten worse, if anything.
Julie didn't want to make a "big deal" about it, because she liked her job and the people she worked with -- and she didn't want to be thought of as a fundamentalist. "After all," she told herself, "nobody died and made me God. It's their pastor's job to tell them, not mine." She had decided to try to ignore it.
The problem was that Pastor Anne had acted as though Julie was God's chosen messenger. "If no one says anything, how are people to know their coworkers object? If you don't speak up, who will?" Pastor Anne's words were as hard to ignore as the swearing. Julie was miserable.
At least one person in Julie's office noticed. Her supervisor called her in one afternoon and said, "Close the door, will you please? And sit down." Julie's stomach turned, especially when the supervisor folded her hands on the desk and said, "Julie, your work is not as excellent as it usually is, and I notice you've been late to work frequently lately. It looks to me as though something or someone here is bothering you. What is it?"
Julie hung her head. What could she possibly say to convey her feelings? At last she blurted it out. "You see, I really love Jesus, and it hurts me so much to hear his name used that way. I know I must sound silly and unsophisticated, but that's the way I feel."
The supervisor sat back. "No, Julie, I don't think you're silly. And there's a way to handle this that will not put you in the wrong. I'll put out an office memo establishing a policy that such language is unacceptable on the job."
Julie was amazed. The memo was received very positively. After a few days of bravado on the part of some, the incidents fell off, and the swearing was a thing of the past. The result was a much more positive attitude in the office too! Now, the only problem for Julie is when she'll get around to telling Pastor Anne how well her unwelcome advice had worked!
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Sutton's Folly
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
I mean, brothers and sisters, the appointed time has grown short; from now on, let even those who have wives be as though they had none, and those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no possessions, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it. For the present form of this world is passing away.
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Ed Weeks couldn't believe his bad luck. After 17 years of investigative reporting, he had finally gotten his big chance at an exclusive story. The contacts had all been there, his snooping had paid off, and what did it land him? Trouble, that was what. Heart-rending, life-changing trouble.
It had all begun almost eight years earlier when his best buddy and coworker, Alan Sutton, hit the big one in the lottery. Al was one of those dreamers who believed that the only thing standing between him and total happiness and success was a winning lottery number. He always said that there was no problem, no ailment, no misery that money couldn't remedy. And although most everyone else at the Times agreed, Ed had laughed at him. Ed had been raised to believe that it was how you lived and treated others, not how much cash you had, that gave value to your life. And he still believed that, even though Al Sutton tried to prove him wrong.
Al hit the jackpot just before Christmas, 1988. His ticket took the whole pot -- 28 million dollars. There had been one great Christmas and New Year's Eve party at the Press Club that year! In fact, Ed couldn't remember any break in between. The Christmas party had just kind of "rolled over" into New Year's. Al believed in sharing the wealth, so all of his buddies benefited. Of course, he left the paper. He lived the good life for four or five years, became a jetsetter. Ed got a kick out of dropping stories for the wire service with shots of Al and beautiful starlets, wealthy business and entertainment moguls, and politicians. And Al was not only good at sharing the wealth -- he made more, too. Ed figured that by 1993 Al was worth about $50 million.
It occurred to Ed that Al might have been right after all. Given enough money, the world began to look like a better place. Even though it wasn't for Ed, wealth didn't seem to be doing Al any harm. Then one day, in March of 1993, Alan Sutton disappeared.
There hadn't been any warning. Ed had spoken with Al a few days before about a story he was doing on campaign corruption: politics had always been Al's forte. Al had sounded tired, said he had a bad cold, but there was no indication of trouble. Two days later he was gone. Ed jumped right into the search. In fact, he stayed at it longer than anyone, even the rest of the gang from the Times. And before he gave it up, he laid some pretty careful information networks. If Al Sutton surfaced anywhere, Ed Weeks was most likely the first reporter who would hear about it.
But a year passed, and then two, and there was no sign of the person or wealth of Alan Sutton. Ed couldn't believe that he had done "a Howard Hughes," but there was no other explanation. Al Sutton had disappeared because he wanted to, and he'd covered his trail well. Ed Weeks put the search aside, but he didn't forget.
Then, in late September 1995, Ed got a phone call from a doctor. He said Ed had better get over to an old storefront building on East 72nd Street. He didn't have to say more.
The building was a homeless shelter. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it was clean and in good repair. The director said the owner had financed everything -- repairs, furnishings, paint, food, utilities, and medical care -- for the past two years. There were 200 beds in the entire building, and they were full almost every night. There was a hot meal in the evening and a simple breakfast every morning. The owner lived on the 15th floor, and no one was allowed up there except the director and the doctor. That morning the director had found the owner near death and called the doctor, who had called Ed. Ed asked to go up.
The room was clean and warm but barren, as were all of the rooms Ed had seen downstairs, although this one had a hospital bed and a lot of medical equipment. The man on the bed was not much more than a skeleton, with angry-looking sores on his face and hands. Ed had no trouble recognizing him as Alan Sutton, though. His hands rested on a Bible that lay open on his chest. When he could make himself move, Ed stepped up to the bedside and looked down at what was left of his friend.
"Thanks for coming, Ed," the skeleton man whispered. "I didn't want anyone to see me this way, but I had to tell you. Not much time left. Had to tell you that you were right."
"Take it easy, Al. There's no rush. I'll stay right here until you've told me what you want me to hear."
Sutton's breathing wheezed shrilly. "Had to tell you that you were right. Money can't solve every problem. I wanted you to know... and I need your help."
"Tell me what you want me to do, Al," Ed said. As a war correspondent he had seen and talked to soldiers near death. He recognized the signs.
"Last will and testament," Al said, motioning weakly toward a paper sticking out of his Bible. "It's all for you... know you'll do the right thing... all for you, Ed, 'cause you know the truth."
Alan Sutton's ragged breathing grew more and more irregular as he slipped into unconsciousness. Ed Weeks watched his friend's life ebb away as the impact of Al's final request hit him.
So the world awaited a solution to a mystery disappearance almost as big as that of Jimmy Hoffa. And Ed Weeks had uncovered the answer. But Ed Weeks had also inherited $50 million. How could he write objectively now? Who would believe him? "All for you... do the right thing... 'cause you know the truth," the ragged whisper echoed as Alan Sutton died. Visions of Lear jets, yachts, penthouse apartments, and Riviera casinos flashed through Ed's mind. What was the truth? It had all seemed so simple before. Ed Weeks couldn't believe his bad luck.
(From Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Cycle B] by John Sumwalt and Jo Perry-Sumwalt)
Scrap Pile
What Are Your Priorities?
by C. David McKirachan
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Paul's approach to the Gospel was intense, to say the least. In these verses we hear his sense that there is nothing more important in the world than being about the work of spreading the Good News.
These days we are afraid to offend anybody, so we don't push. I think we have a lot to learn from the offensive Paul. The fire in his eyes was passion that was rooted in a sure knowledge that God was in the process of making a new creation, and that each and every one of us is a partner in the business.
We just got through with Christmas. This year, because of schedules that took my loved ones to the four winds, we had to arrange a day other than the 25th to hunker down and open gifts and do the whole Santa thing. This forced me to get everything bought and wrapped and dumped under the tree a week early. On the last days of that week, very little got done except the stuff to make the celebration work. Time and the priority of the moment blew all the other things that usually dominate my attention out of the room. (Come to think of it, I doubt the dog got fed!)
We are not called to desperation. We are not called to frenzy. But we are called to treat the Gospel like the priority that it is, rather than one of the many important things that pull and push us in our living.
As far as married men acting as if they have no wives -- that's normal for this time of year. It's playoff season.
And They Followed Him?
by C. David McKirachan
Mark 1:14-20
When I was younger, I wondered why these people who became the apostles walked away from their jobs and their families so easily, just because Jesus talked to them. Were they weak-minded? Would Jesus want people who could be that easily swayed? Did he hypnotize them? Was he into mind control? None of the simple answers explained away the problems I had with "...and they left their nets and followed him."
I'd heard sermons on the power of Jesus, on the presence of God that lit him and how people were attracted to him. But my problems just wouldn't recede with the "Jesus says jump and they said how high" approach to the call of these people who were so pivotal in the dawning of the new age. Jesus constantly demanded that they wrestle with their own issues, come to their own conclusions, make choices from high ground. And he was more likely to tell them to "hoof it" than carry them there.
When I was 13, I went to church camp and had a very clear experience of salvation. I came home lit with the fire of God's love and proceeded to preach to my parents. I was devastated when they didn't praise God and fall on their knees. They told me they were happy and that this would be one of many milestones in my journey of faith. My devastation wore off. The experience and its importance still radiated the Holy Spirit's heat for me, but I realized I had a few more things to learn before I assumed it would all be downloaded at one pop. My parents' patience and unwavering willingness to be present in my life taught me more about God's call than any inspirational moment.
I have remembered that and endeavored to be a willing and patient presence in people's lives. The "patient" part gets rough sometimes. I want to do mind control on those idiots who don't agree with me. And it drives me nuts when they take a perfectly clear passage from scripture and run out into right or left field with it, proving again that left to their own they'll wander into Hell. But then I remember that it's not my job to create puppets. If God didn't, why should I try?
So I wonder about this call-response thing. I wonder how they wrestled. I wonder what issues tore and scared them. I wonder about their hungers and their needs. I wonder about their wives and their children. And I keep coming back to that patient presence that refuses to let up on any of us. Yes, they gave up a lot. They probably fought battles in the middle of the night, battles of doubt and anxiety that we will never know about except by remembering our own battles. But the gravitational love of Christ somehow would not go away. And so they left their nets and their lives behind and journeyed with him.
But sometimes I still wish I could do mind control....
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
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StoryShare, January 22, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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.
