Just A Small Town Girl...
Stories
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Contents
"Just a Small Town Girl..." by Keith Hewitt
"So Much for Deals" by C. David McKirachan
Just a Small Town Girl...
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 7:36--8:3
Did you grow up in a small town?
If you did, then you know what it’s like: everybody knows you. Everybody has a role to play, and a history, and a destiny that is common knowledge ... a joint fabrication of all those who live with you. There’s the rich one, the poor one, the smart one, the slow one ... the slutty one.
Everybody knows.
You may as well all be living in one house, because in a small town there are no secrets, there is no mystery ... there is only a constant living-out of what everyone knows, a slow unfolding of a future that is already written. And, honestly, there is some comfort to that. There is no challenge to live up to, no aspirations to keep one awake at night -- wondering, planning, hoping ...
You are who you are, and everybody knows it; you will be what you will be, and everyone expects it. It’s a life with few opportunities for disappointment, and that can be reassuring.
We have lived like that for more years than I can count -- in the same town, with the same families, facing the same problems and the same fates as far back as anyone knows, generation after generation.
And then someone like him comes along ...
Someone like Jesus comes along, with his message of hope, and everything changes. If you weren’t here, and if you didn’t grow up that way, you can’t really appreciate what it was like to have a man (a learned man, not some half-crazed hermit dressed in camel skin, with his breath smelling of bugs, but a man who knew the Scriptures and -- here was the exciting part -- had a way of looking at them and explaining them that made thousand year old writings seem fresh and vibrant) to have a man like that come into town and start to teach.
And not just teach, but actually talk to people. The Jesus I saw had a way of connecting to people of every class, speaking their language, feeling their feelings, suffering from their pains. There are stories about lizards in far off lands that can change colors, to blend in with their surroundings -- Jesus was like that. He could fit in with anybody.
And, at the same time, be distinct from everybody, because what he taught us, what he brought us, was not like anything we’d heard before.
You heard about the dinner, I suppose. Everyone has. I mean, the spectacle of it all would be a riveting story for anyone to hear: a dinner party, guests of high status, and then a woman of, shall we say, not-such-high status coming in and fawning over him, while everyone looked on in discomfort, fidgeting and shuffling their feet, some playing with their food, not wanting to watch but too entranced to turn away ...
Someone compared it to having a fine dinner ... and then having a dog slink in off the street and defecate in front of all the guests. Looking back, there was definitely that kind of feeling to it, as it unfolded.
But here’s the thing: Jesus took that moment, and he used it.
He used it to teach ... to instruct everyone within earshot.
He taught, first, about the importance of treating people with respect -- all people. He used the lack of amenities shown to him to illustrate the point -- how he had not been properly greeted, nor properly treated, slighted at every turn. Was it because he was lower status? Because he was a troublemaker? Because there was a point to be made by insulting him in front over everyone gathered there -- the kind of unspoken insult that is the most cutting of all, because it’s so casual that at first people don’t even notice ... and then they can’t help but notice, but assume it’s a mistake ... and then they realize it just had to be deliberate?
Jesus used the moment to show that such treatment -- whatever the reason -- was indefensible. And, in so doing, he was reflecting that everyone had worth, from the greatest to the least, and should all be treated with dignity. Looking back, I cannot say if there was an intention to slight him, or if it was an unconscious thing -- but I lean toward the latter. But what I can say for certain is that his words, gentle but incisive, cut to the quick, and would stay with us for a long time.
And then his teaching about forgiveness -- what can I tell you?
Sin and the Law are words that get tossed around loosely, and in a small town we all know who are the great sinners, and who are the lesser ones. Unfortunately, I assumed that there was an inverse correlation between sin and worth ... that those who sinned greatly were of lesser value, and those who sinned less had greater value. It seemed natural to me, as the latter paid more attention to the Law, and strove to keep it more rigorously.
It took Jesus, accepting the ministrations of the town whore and then using that as a teachable moment, to make me realize that whether we owed much or little, we were all in debt because of our sins ... and it was a debt that we could not, ourselves, pay, but must instead pray that it be forgiven.
Now, I do not know if he can forgive those sins. To me, because those are debts we owe to God, then only God can forgive them. But his words touched me, and made me curious, so I spoke to the woman after the dinner ended -- something I would never have done before -- and she told me that when he told her she was forgiven, she felt this curious and reassuring calm ... a certainty that all she had done in the past really was forgiven.
Could she be deluded -- deluding herself, or allowing a charismatic teacher’s words to delude her? Or could she be right -- that she has been forgiven?
I can’t say.
But what I can say is this: from that night on, she has been a changed woman. She’s no longer the town whore -- not in deed, anyway. It’s a small town, and people’s roles are hard to change, even harder to forget. But she has changed her ways, and is living life with a new purpose now. She plans to leave town, to travel with Jesus, and help him to reach out to others. And that’s a good thing -- to leave her old life behind, it’s probably best to leave her surroundings, as well.
And now she has me thinking, too -- maybe I should do the same. Because I have the nagging feeling that I’ve been changed, too, after Jesus came to dinner. Here, I’m a Pharisee, and everyone knows it. But who knows what -- or who -- I might become, if I choose to follow Jesus, instead of settling for my destiny?
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. 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.
* * *
So Much for Deals
by C. David McKirachan
1 Kings 21:1-10 (11-14) 15-21a
Everybody wants a deal. Deals to get more for our money, to get more money for our work, to be able to have things we shouldn’t be able to afford. Deals are short cuts. They let us cut corners. They make allowances. Students in my classes look for better grades for less work. They want to be able to get away with absences, missing homework. It seems that the ends do justify the means. It doesn’t seem necessary for us to live up to standards of decency, or personal ethics as long as we get our car, our clothes, our flat screen TV’s, our grades, our time off, our promotion, our thrill.
It disappoints me when my students try to work deals with me. But when their parents start calling me, telling me that their children really shouldn’t be treated like the ‘others,’ I hardly know what to do. Once I was offered a bribe. That terrified me. If these people are teaching their children such values, it’s no wonder the kids want to cut corners.
Some of the deals that we teach our children may be less blatant than bribes. Indeed they may actually be approved and condoned by our culture. A lot of our young families become rare attenders of worship and Sunday School when the kids get to be of soccer, dance, hockey, lacrosse, or baseball age. How can we object when it’s all for the child’s good? The culture demands it after all. And when they get on traveling teams, what are we supposed to say? NO?
Then there’s the parent who trades time with the family for a higher standard of living, for the big promotion, for the career. Or when we work and work more without consideration of the need of Sabbath rest. We’re not wrong, are we? And what about the small corners we cut when it comes to stewardship of giving to the church, or stewardship of the planet. Who has the time for that? And what about the poor, the homeless, the hungry? Are we cutting corners with them? Are we making deals when we don’t forgive, or reconcile, or help others, let alone remember their birthdays? I mean who does that anyway?
Jezebel had a perfectly reasonable way for her whining husband to get what he wanted. The king could pretty much have what he wanted. She encouraged him to make a deal. To separate himself from the mess and still get what he wanted. He didn’t have to be blatantly brutal. But it all went his way.
Dr. Martin Luther King said “The arc of history may be long but it bends toward justice.” There may not be an Elijah around to proclaim God’s justice, but there is no doubt that when we cut corners, we need to at least pay attention to it, or we may pay a very high price, unto the third and fourth generation. Who are the Elijah’s of our day? Who’s there to remind people that getting a good deal may not be the best strategy?
Lots of questions. Questions are the gateways to wisdom. Living with them, letting them make us uncomfortable enough to allow something other than the deals to inform our life styles may be a gateway to a larger wisdom, a wisdom of ‘seeking justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God.’ Such a deal!
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 12, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
"Just a Small Town Girl..." by Keith Hewitt
"So Much for Deals" by C. David McKirachan
Just a Small Town Girl...
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 7:36--8:3
Did you grow up in a small town?
If you did, then you know what it’s like: everybody knows you. Everybody has a role to play, and a history, and a destiny that is common knowledge ... a joint fabrication of all those who live with you. There’s the rich one, the poor one, the smart one, the slow one ... the slutty one.
Everybody knows.
You may as well all be living in one house, because in a small town there are no secrets, there is no mystery ... there is only a constant living-out of what everyone knows, a slow unfolding of a future that is already written. And, honestly, there is some comfort to that. There is no challenge to live up to, no aspirations to keep one awake at night -- wondering, planning, hoping ...
You are who you are, and everybody knows it; you will be what you will be, and everyone expects it. It’s a life with few opportunities for disappointment, and that can be reassuring.
We have lived like that for more years than I can count -- in the same town, with the same families, facing the same problems and the same fates as far back as anyone knows, generation after generation.
And then someone like him comes along ...
Someone like Jesus comes along, with his message of hope, and everything changes. If you weren’t here, and if you didn’t grow up that way, you can’t really appreciate what it was like to have a man (a learned man, not some half-crazed hermit dressed in camel skin, with his breath smelling of bugs, but a man who knew the Scriptures and -- here was the exciting part -- had a way of looking at them and explaining them that made thousand year old writings seem fresh and vibrant) to have a man like that come into town and start to teach.
And not just teach, but actually talk to people. The Jesus I saw had a way of connecting to people of every class, speaking their language, feeling their feelings, suffering from their pains. There are stories about lizards in far off lands that can change colors, to blend in with their surroundings -- Jesus was like that. He could fit in with anybody.
And, at the same time, be distinct from everybody, because what he taught us, what he brought us, was not like anything we’d heard before.
You heard about the dinner, I suppose. Everyone has. I mean, the spectacle of it all would be a riveting story for anyone to hear: a dinner party, guests of high status, and then a woman of, shall we say, not-such-high status coming in and fawning over him, while everyone looked on in discomfort, fidgeting and shuffling their feet, some playing with their food, not wanting to watch but too entranced to turn away ...
Someone compared it to having a fine dinner ... and then having a dog slink in off the street and defecate in front of all the guests. Looking back, there was definitely that kind of feeling to it, as it unfolded.
But here’s the thing: Jesus took that moment, and he used it.
He used it to teach ... to instruct everyone within earshot.
He taught, first, about the importance of treating people with respect -- all people. He used the lack of amenities shown to him to illustrate the point -- how he had not been properly greeted, nor properly treated, slighted at every turn. Was it because he was lower status? Because he was a troublemaker? Because there was a point to be made by insulting him in front over everyone gathered there -- the kind of unspoken insult that is the most cutting of all, because it’s so casual that at first people don’t even notice ... and then they can’t help but notice, but assume it’s a mistake ... and then they realize it just had to be deliberate?
Jesus used the moment to show that such treatment -- whatever the reason -- was indefensible. And, in so doing, he was reflecting that everyone had worth, from the greatest to the least, and should all be treated with dignity. Looking back, I cannot say if there was an intention to slight him, or if it was an unconscious thing -- but I lean toward the latter. But what I can say for certain is that his words, gentle but incisive, cut to the quick, and would stay with us for a long time.
And then his teaching about forgiveness -- what can I tell you?
Sin and the Law are words that get tossed around loosely, and in a small town we all know who are the great sinners, and who are the lesser ones. Unfortunately, I assumed that there was an inverse correlation between sin and worth ... that those who sinned greatly were of lesser value, and those who sinned less had greater value. It seemed natural to me, as the latter paid more attention to the Law, and strove to keep it more rigorously.
It took Jesus, accepting the ministrations of the town whore and then using that as a teachable moment, to make me realize that whether we owed much or little, we were all in debt because of our sins ... and it was a debt that we could not, ourselves, pay, but must instead pray that it be forgiven.
Now, I do not know if he can forgive those sins. To me, because those are debts we owe to God, then only God can forgive them. But his words touched me, and made me curious, so I spoke to the woman after the dinner ended -- something I would never have done before -- and she told me that when he told her she was forgiven, she felt this curious and reassuring calm ... a certainty that all she had done in the past really was forgiven.
Could she be deluded -- deluding herself, or allowing a charismatic teacher’s words to delude her? Or could she be right -- that she has been forgiven?
I can’t say.
But what I can say is this: from that night on, she has been a changed woman. She’s no longer the town whore -- not in deed, anyway. It’s a small town, and people’s roles are hard to change, even harder to forget. But she has changed her ways, and is living life with a new purpose now. She plans to leave town, to travel with Jesus, and help him to reach out to others. And that’s a good thing -- to leave her old life behind, it’s probably best to leave her surroundings, as well.
And now she has me thinking, too -- maybe I should do the same. Because I have the nagging feeling that I’ve been changed, too, after Jesus came to dinner. Here, I’m a Pharisee, and everyone knows it. But who knows what -- or who -- I might become, if I choose to follow Jesus, instead of settling for my destiny?
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. 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.
* * *
So Much for Deals
by C. David McKirachan
1 Kings 21:1-10 (11-14) 15-21a
Everybody wants a deal. Deals to get more for our money, to get more money for our work, to be able to have things we shouldn’t be able to afford. Deals are short cuts. They let us cut corners. They make allowances. Students in my classes look for better grades for less work. They want to be able to get away with absences, missing homework. It seems that the ends do justify the means. It doesn’t seem necessary for us to live up to standards of decency, or personal ethics as long as we get our car, our clothes, our flat screen TV’s, our grades, our time off, our promotion, our thrill.
It disappoints me when my students try to work deals with me. But when their parents start calling me, telling me that their children really shouldn’t be treated like the ‘others,’ I hardly know what to do. Once I was offered a bribe. That terrified me. If these people are teaching their children such values, it’s no wonder the kids want to cut corners.
Some of the deals that we teach our children may be less blatant than bribes. Indeed they may actually be approved and condoned by our culture. A lot of our young families become rare attenders of worship and Sunday School when the kids get to be of soccer, dance, hockey, lacrosse, or baseball age. How can we object when it’s all for the child’s good? The culture demands it after all. And when they get on traveling teams, what are we supposed to say? NO?
Then there’s the parent who trades time with the family for a higher standard of living, for the big promotion, for the career. Or when we work and work more without consideration of the need of Sabbath rest. We’re not wrong, are we? And what about the small corners we cut when it comes to stewardship of giving to the church, or stewardship of the planet. Who has the time for that? And what about the poor, the homeless, the hungry? Are we cutting corners with them? Are we making deals when we don’t forgive, or reconcile, or help others, let alone remember their birthdays? I mean who does that anyway?
Jezebel had a perfectly reasonable way for her whining husband to get what he wanted. The king could pretty much have what he wanted. She encouraged him to make a deal. To separate himself from the mess and still get what he wanted. He didn’t have to be blatantly brutal. But it all went his way.
Dr. Martin Luther King said “The arc of history may be long but it bends toward justice.” There may not be an Elijah around to proclaim God’s justice, but there is no doubt that when we cut corners, we need to at least pay attention to it, or we may pay a very high price, unto the third and fourth generation. Who are the Elijah’s of our day? Who’s there to remind people that getting a good deal may not be the best strategy?
Lots of questions. Questions are the gateways to wisdom. Living with them, letting them make us uncomfortable enough to allow something other than the deals to inform our life styles may be a gateway to a larger wisdom, a wisdom of ‘seeking justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with our God.’ Such a deal!
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 12, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 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.
