Larry's Lesson
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
Stories: "Larry's Lesson" by Stan Purdum
"The Mystery of Christmas" by C. David McKirachan
"A Miracle in the Village" by C. David McKirachan
"The First Christmas Message" by James T. Garrett
"An Unlikely Angel" by David Michael Smith
What's Up This Week
So many things to focus on, all at one time, the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day all in a 24-hour period. In some states, retailers are appealing "blue laws" that prohibit any sales on Sunday before the afternoon hours. They fear the loss of retail profits from the anxious, restless crowds seeking those last-minute gifts -- but the true gifts lie in the breakthrough of salvation, justice, and peace into our lives as Christmas dawns. May all this be yours this season of celebration.
Larry's Lesson
by Stan Purdum
"O Lord God of hosts, how long will you be angry with your people's prayers?"
-- Psalm 80:4
Larry was ticked off.
He was 15, after all, and the state laws said he could get a student's driver's license.
Larry's father, however, said otherwise. "You're not ready" were his exact words.
For months leading up to his 15th birthday, Larry had been looking forward to getting his license. He'd gotten the driver's rule book three months ahead of time and could now almost recite it by heart. And it wasn't as if he was expecting his parents to buy him his own car or anything (not right away, anyway); he'd be quite content at present to drive one of theirs.
He pictured himself tooling into the school lot with Heather snuggled beside him. He knew better than to actually strut when we got out of the car at school -- he was no fool after all -- but walking a bit more erect would be justified. And after school, he'd drive Heather home again, of course, but he'd also transport Danny and Courtney and Jake. And naturally, if he took Jake, he'd have to take Sarah, too. There weren't actually seats for six people in either of the family cars, but they could squeeze in.
Then there'd be time to cruise around town for a while after school, and be seen behind the wheel. And he wouldn't let any grass grow under the tires either.
Yeah, that was how it would be. He was even willing to chip in on the gas.
But no. "You're not ready," his father had said.
Larry hadn't let that settle matter, of course. He'd demanded that his father recite all the reasons he was saying no. Larry was planning to one by one marshal his counter- arguments and persuade get his father to give in. But other than those three words (four actually, if you counted the contraction as two) his dad wouldn't give any reasons.
"Waddaya mean, I'm not ready?" Larry said.
"We're not going to discuss it further," his father replied. And no matter how much Larry wheedled, prodded, and even begged, his dad refused to rise to the bait.
That didn't stop Larry. He continued his campaign, raising the subject at mealtimes, when in the car with his dad, when his dad working on the paying the bills at the dining room table -- anytime really that his dad was around. Larry figured that eventually his father would get so tired of the pestering that he'd give in just to get some peace.
But that's not what happened. Instead, after about the fifth time Larry whined about how all his friends were being allowed to get their licenses, his father said, with intensity, "Larry, if you continue to bring this up every time we're together, I'm going to ground you. I'm your father, and I'll decide when you are ready. Don't bring it up again."
Stupidly Larry asked, "How long will it be before you decide I'm ready?" but when his father only looked at him darkly, even Larry knew there'd be no answer forthcoming.
Larry would have to wait on his father's good time.
Geezzzzzz!
The Mystery of Christmas
By C. David McKirachan
Consequently, when Christ came into the world, he said, "Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me; in burnt-offerings and sin-offerings you have taken no pleasure. Then I said, "See, God, I have come to do your will, O God" (in the scroll of the book it is written of me)." When he said above, "You have neither desired nor taken pleasure in sacrifices and offerings and burnt- offerings and sin-offerings" (these are offered according to the law), then he added, "See, I have come to do your will." He abolishes the first in order to establish the second. And it is by God's will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.
-- Hebrews 10:5-10
This old chestnut is just the heartwarming kind of nugget that we all want to hear at the end of Advent when the world is exploding and "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" is cascading down from the mall's speakers and the church's pipe organs. The writer to the Hebrews dusted off this Psalm and laid it out in wonderful pedantic redundancy to impress the blazes out of us at his esoteric capability. At least that's how it feels during Christmas week.
But foundations are rather redundant. That's what makes them secure. And they are anything but sentimental or sexy. That's what makes them stable. And that's why we bury them. I doubt many of us will trot out this oldie but goody in the midst of the panoply of magnificence that makes the latter stages of this season so inspiring and exhausting.
But I do think that it speaks to us in our desperation to have religion that is snazzy. We're driven by an entertainment and sensation hungry and effectively jaded culture to provide thrills and chills, to prove that we are not an old moldy example of some tired, pedantic, ritualistic anachronism that supports the status quo because it can't quite cut it in the new, real world. This says, give up. Stop with the processionals in step and the stadium seated extravaganzas. God, "has taken no pleasure..." in all our hoo haa. God comes in a body.
Now that's messy and rude and it insults the choir director who thinks Bach's a bit modern and what about the traditional yadda yadda yadda, and we'd better get a rock band in here somewhere, and don't forget the fire codes, and keep the services down to an hour, and don't cry in the pulpit, and you'd better cry in the pulpit... yadda yadda yadda.
It's Christmas folks. It's about intimacy and imminence and joy and mystery and glory and manure in a barn and smelly shepherds and kids asking when they crucify the shepherds and Santa showing up in Bethlehem and somehow, almost, improbably, without a prayer of really happening, Emmanuel shows up. God knows us. God loves us. I wish we could. "O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing."
Merry Christmas.
A Miracle in the Village
By C. David McKirachan
But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days. Therefore he shall give them up until the time when she who is in labour has brought forth; then the rest of his kindred shall return to the people of Israel. And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace. If the Assyrians come into our land and tread upon our soil, we will raise against them seven shepherds and eight installed as rulers.
-- Micah 5:2-5a
Suburbs are strange. They don't really exist, glommed onto the "real" population and culture centers that they surround. Bethlehem was a not a suburb, at least until the present day. It was a village on its own turf. It was a place that grew at a cross roads, having enough to allow a few people to live there who could provide services to the farmers and shepherds that scratched out a living on the almost barren hills of Judea.
Nothing happened there. Nothing came from there. If you wanted to be anybody you left there. There was nothing there to help you become anything special. It was a real town, or village depending on your demographic distinctions. And it had all the limitations and boundaries of such a small environment.
Now it is a suburb. It is just a looong stone's throw from Jerusalem. Or a short mortar lob. It is also the sight of two new additions to the landscape. A wall. Dark and forbidding it snakes across the hills, punctured by checkpoints guarded by very serious Israeli soldiers. The other is a lovely suburb better known as a refugee camp, a breeding ground for frustration and anger and hopelessness. Nothing happens there. Nothing comes from there. If you want to be anybody you leave there. There is nothing there to help you become anything special.
It is from there the savior is to come. What? Are you out of your mind? That is a hot bed for the recruitment of suicide bombers and terrorists. Yup. It's not even Christian. Nope. But the estimation of the savior being born in the blighted suburb of Bethlehem is no more ridiculous than the savior being born in a stable in the dusty, limited, sad little village that we so lovingly read about every Christmas.
God doesn't do things the way we expect. Maybe we better reconsider our Christmas pageants. Maybe we'd better stop trying to sanitize the miracles of God. That's what makes them miracles. The Christ is coming. Christ is coming into our small, cramped little lives and out of our festering angry suburbs. Our walls and efforts at control have little to do with the will of God. Praise the Lord. Wonder how the checkpoints will react to shepherds and Magi.
The Christmas Song
by James T. Garrett
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55)
The business side of Christmas -- the commercialism -- doesn't bother me as it does some. There are those who think the spiritual import of Christmas may be forgotten. There's no danger of that. The spiritual significance of Christmas is so dominant that many who are ordinarily indifferent go out of their way to find a religious service. That is part of the miracle of Christmas.
Personally, the exchange of gifts, the decorations in our homes, and the adding of color to drab streets is not a contradiction to the spiritual importance of the season. These traditions and rituals repeated each year help rekindle in our consciousness what happened a long time ago. They help us recall emotions that otherwise would get lost in the past. The simple fact God has come to be with us in Jesus Christ never grows stale. Visual images help tell the story.
The holiday season is a ritual-filled time. Rituals are important. They build solidarity and generate loyalty. Christmas is a ritual-filled day for most of us. One family has a prescribed ritual for the opening of gifts. A family member goes to the pile of gifts under the tree, picks up a gift and gives it to the person whose name is on the tag. The gift is opened while others look on trying to guess what it is. Then they go through the same ritual with the next gift and so on.
Some of the gifts are wrapped in used paper from a previous year. The mother would always say, "Now save the paper. We'll use it next year." The world is divided into two kinds of mothers: those who save wrapping paper and those who don't.
I cannot explain it, but every year it happens. A special quality of Divine Presence invades our world. It is as if a magic wand is waved over the world and everybody and everything becomes different. Year after year the world in some measure stops to listen to the story.
I love the Christmas music. Christmas has to be sung. Music and song began with the first Christmas. The song of Christmas sung by Mary is found in Luke 1:39-55.
Here is a moving account of the mother of John being visited by the mother of Jesus. A spirit of joy and celebration surrounded the births of both John and Jesus. The scene is an unnamed city in the Judean hills. Upon hearing Mary was to give birth to the Messiah, the babe leaped in Elizabeth's womb. This prenatal activity accents the sovereign will and purpose of God. Elizabeth is inspired by the Holy Spirit and blesses Mary for having been chosen to be the mother of the Lord and for believing and accepting the word spoken to her from God.
Mary's joy and excitement is expressed in a song. She praises God for the favor bestowed upon a maiden of low estate. Her song proclaims the triumph of God's purposes for all people everywhere. All the oppressed, poor, and hungry will be blessed.
"He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name." sings Mary. Ah yes, that's the song of Christmas -- God has done great things, and holy is his name. The song contains the essence of the Christmas gospel:
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,... And his mercy is on those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away."
At Christmas we celebrate a mighty act of God. God sends the gift of a child into the world. All the conditions of normal human action and achievement are absent. They're not there. It is totally, entirely, completely, absolutely the work of God. The Child is a gift of God's grace.
Of course, every birth is a gift of God's grace. Every child represents a new potential. Each newborn is a sign God has not given up on the world.
The observation has been made that during times of war and destruction the birth rate increases. Is this accidental? Or is it when the processes of men are engaged in destroying life there is One at work more authentic than the design of the human mind?
A new spirit was released into the world with the birth of Jesus. It's a mystery beyond our understanding. He who is mighty has done great things for us.
A little girl, dressed as an angel, in a Christmas pageant was told to come down the center aisle. The child asked, "Do you want me to walk or fly?" You feel as though she almost could have flown. Don't ever lose the wonder and mystery of Christmas.
Every year I'm reminded of those words of the late Peter Marshall: "When Christmas doesn't make your heart swell up until it nearly bursts and fill your eyes with tears and make you all soft and warm inside then you will know that something inside of you is dead."
The mystery of Christmas gave a young virgin a song to sing. This was not to be an ordinary birth but a virgin birth. The birth of righteousness, peace and love in this stern world is always a virgin birth. It is never humanity nor the power of mankind that brings it forth. It is always God! God working in and through those who hear and obey.
The new, the holy is to be born. If the new is to be born, then the old is going to have to give way. There is agony in the process as well as joy. Just as there is agony in the womb as it labors to give birth to new life.
Mary will give birth to a holy, eternal Child. The Child Herod could not slaughter. The Child the Roman Empire could not bury. This is God's Son. The Child who was to be born is the One who may be born again even in us.
O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today. We hear the Christmas Angels the Great glad tidings tell; O come to us Abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!
On this Sunday before Christmas Day we move closer to the manger at Bethlehem in our journey of Advent. Bethlehem will not be the end of the journey, only the beginning -- not home but the place through which we must pass if we are to reach home at last.
May Christmas put a song in your heart.
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name."
Is there a person who is unable to say that? Repeat with me: "He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name." Amen and Amen!
(from God's Gift, by James. T. Garrett [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 1991], pp. 23-26)
The First Christmas Message
by James T. Garrett
Luke 2:1-20
The story of the birth of Jesus as told by Luke is the most familiar to most people. The familiarity of the story can be a frustrating thing for the preacher. Who is capable of rising to an occasion on which the most beautiful text of the Bible is read? It makes the preacher turn pale and stammer.
However, the familiar can be the preacher's delight. That the text and message are familiar means they already belong to you, the listeners. There is power, enjoyment, and an occasional "amen" when we hear what we already know and believe.
The record of Jesus' birth is straightforward. It is told as a historian would relate it, citing date, place, and circumstance. It is an earthly event that came straight out of heaven.
It opens with the decree of Augustus that his whole empire should be taxed. Before the tax could be imposed, there must be a census. Everyone was directed to go to their ancestral home for enrollment. Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem. Joseph was a descendent of King David, whose home had been Bethlehem.
Jesus is to be the fulfillment of prophecy. Luke weaves the old and the new together as one fabric. The Bible tells one story -- the salvation of God.
The innkeeper had no room. The Child is born in a manger. And, the shepherds are the first to hear the good news from an angel: ... behold I bring you good news of a great joy... for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
What a nice touch God adds to the Christmas event. The shepherds were not only poor and powerless, they were despised by the religious orthodox. Their occupation took them into wilderness where they were unable to regularly observe ceremonial religious laws. Yet the temple authorities needed the shepherds. According to the Law they had to sacrifice the unblemished lambs daily. Those who looked after the sacrificial lambs were the first to know and the first to see the true Lamb of God, who "taketh away the sins of the world."
The news of the birth comes first not in a palace hall but in the fields, to the poor shepherds. The shepherds acted immediately. They went with haste to the manger. There they found the babe -- a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
Jesus was born to be the Savior of the world. That was the first Christmas message. It is the Christmas message today. That's what we all really need -- a Savior! We want to know forgiveness, salvation, peace with God. A longing both universal and personal. It is ancient and modern. Our whole world needs the Savior.
You have received many invitations during this season but none is more important, or equal to the one sent by God at Christmas. In Jesus Christ each of you has a personal invitation from God with an RSVP. There is evil in the world, but we can rise above it. There is much that is ugly and indecent, but it is possible to live a good life. Death is still with us, grief and sorrow, but death no longer has power over us. New life begins in Jesus Christ.
That night when in Judean skies
The mystic star dispensed her light
A blind man moved amid his sleep
And dreamed that he had sight.
That night when shepherds heard the song
of hosts angelic choiring near,
A deaf man stirred in slumber's spell
And dreamed he could hear.
That night when in the cattle stall
Slept child and mother cheek by jowl
A cripple turned his twisted limbs,
And dreamed that he was whole.
That night when o'er the newborn babe
The tender Mary rose to lean
A lothsome leper smiled in sleep,
And dreamed that he was clean.
That night when in a manger lay
The Sanctified who came to save
A man moved in the sleep of death,
And dreamed there was no grave.
-- Author unknown
Not only 'that night' but every night since his birth people of faith have been able to dream and live with new hope. It's what makes the good times great and the bad times bearable.
Fred Craddock tells about a trip to his home state of Tennessee. He was in a restaurant in the Smoky Mountains. It was one of those informal places where the proprietor is the waiter, the cashier, and the greeter. He moved from table to table, visiting with the diners. He introduced himself to Dr. Craddock and wanted to know who he was and what he did. Craddock confessed that he was a preacher. The cafe owner pulled up an empty chair and sat down, and began to tell his whole life's story.
The man said that he was born in a little town in Tennessee, not far from where they were. He was born to a mother who wasn't married. It was the kind of town where everybody knows everybody else, what they've done, all the gossip and scandals. They had a name for someone who was born to an unmarried mother, and the boy got used to hearing that name before he even knew what it meant. It followed him to school. On the playground he would hear it from other children. When he went downtown, all looked at him as if he were somehow different from others. His mother wanted him to go to Sunday school, but even the church people seemed to look at him as if they were afraid he might be a bad influence on their own children.
One day a new preacher came to town. The boy went to church. When the service was over he tried to hurry out. The preacher stopped him at the door. He said, "Who are you, son, whose boy are you?" He felt that he would like to crawl into a hole somewhere. The new minister had obviously already heard about him. But before he could answer, the preacher said with a warm smile on his face, "Wait a minute! I know who you are." He leaned down and looked closely into the boy's face and said, "I can see a family resemblance. You are a child of God." Then he put his hands on the boy's shoulders and straightened up and said, "Boy, you've got quite an inheritance. Go out and claim it."
God made Christmas for us. But there is a sense in which all of us have to make our Christmas. All the salvation of God is finished and complete, but it is not mine until I claim it.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still
The dear Christ enters in.
"A Savior for you is born this day." Tonight, as you take the bread in your hands, let it once again be the sign of your salvation. We are saved, through the life, the death and the resurrection of One born so long ago in a little town called Bethlehem.
You are forgiven. You are loved. Peace on earth and goodwill to everyone. Merry Christmas!
(from God's Gift, by James. T. Garrett [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 1991], pp. 27-30)
Sharing Visions
Edited by John Sumwalt
An Unlikely Angel
David Michael Smith
Luke 2:1-20
He staggered in fifteen minutes after the traditional holiday hymn sing had begun, plopping with a thud in the wooden pew directly behind me. It was Christmas Eve night at historic St. Paul's Episcopal Church in the small and quaint town of Georgetown, Delaware, and midnight mass was scheduled to commence in about twenty minutes. Dozens of candles cast a warm glow throughout the church. The pipe organist was playing a seasonal tune, the congregation joining the choir in a unified voice of celebration and joy.
I recall smelling the strong odor of alcohol, right behind me. Trying to appear inconspicuous, I nonchalantly turned at an angle while still pretending to sing so I could glance at the whiskey-breathed intruder. A young man, perhaps age 25, maybe younger, sat alone in the pew, a drunken smile plastered across his unshaven face. His hair was bushy and uncombed, his clothing unbefitting of a holy and reverent church service. I did not recognize the fellow, and later would learn that nobody else knew who the man was either. And Georgetown's the type of friendly place where everyone seems to know just about everyone else, and their family tree. Just call us "Mayberry."
It became immediately obvious to me that the man was confused, disoriented. Not just with the Christmas Eve service, which for a first-time visitor can be somewhat perplexing despite the bulletins the ushers hand out, but in general. He stumbled aimlessly through the hymnal and a prayer book like a child leafing through coloring books at the doctor's office. He was intoxicated and his behavior made me uncomfortable. Judging by the numerous nervous stares I observed, targeted in the young man's direction, some subtle and some not so subtle, others shared my opinion.
Then, a good-natured parishioner named Bob left his family and his regularly appointed pew, and joined the fellow, shaking his hand and introducing himself with a warm smile. Bob helped the man throughout the remainder of the hymn sing, assisting the delighted guy with locating the proper songs and directing him with basic liturgical functions such as when to stand, sit, and kneel. With each song, the intoxicated stranger sang zealously louder and genuinely off key, although I suspect he felt he was performing as well as Pavarotti or Sinatra. I found his butchering of the traditional holiday carols both disturbing and amusing at the same time. He was having enthusiastic fun. But he surely couldn't sing a lick! Indeed, our uninvited visitor was certainly a ball of tightly- bound entertainment. The hymn sing-a-long ended and the service began with "O Come, All Ye Faithful," a procession of priests in robes and acolytes bearing torches entering from the back of the church. Someone in the procession waved a canister of incense around, preparing the sanctuary for worship and God's presence, but it made my eyes water and I sneezed. The service continued without incident with prayer and Bible readings about the birth of the Savior, the infant Jesus. Good Samaritan Bob continued to befriend the man, much to his delight. I traded smiles with the man, my heart softening.
"Why was I angry that he came here tonight?" I thought to myself. "This is God's house, not mine, and all are welcomed in the Lord's house." I wondered if the young man was lonely, depressed on this wonderful holiday eve, first seeking the comfort of a bottle, drowning unknown sorrows, and later journeying by our church. Perhaps he heard the festive Christmas music outside the ancient brick walls, and then saw the church aglow, holly wreaths hanging from the huge oaken doors, like one of those wonderful Thomas Kinkade paintings, so inviting. Something deep within his heart led him to come inside, an inner voice urging him to enter the warmth of the real-life artwork. Maybe he was simply in need of acceptance and love. I pondered about who he was and where he was from. Did he have a family? Was he married? Children? He was somebody.
Then, the priest moved to the pulpit to begin his Christmas homily. The Father had preached for only a few minutes when abruptly he stopped his sermon message. I thought he had lost his place, or was pausing for oratorical effect. But I was wrong. I noticed him looking down on the congregation, a concerned frown rippling across his forehead. A low, curious murmur spread throughout the people. About four pews back from the front, on the left side, often referred to as the Epistle side, Bill, an elderly man who faithfully attended each and every Sunday, had slumped over. Several members of the congregation moved to his aid, thinking he had merely passed out. The situation, however, was far graver.
The service came to a complete halt as one parishioner sprinted to call 9-1-1. Several people laid Bill down on his back in the pew and attempted to revive him. Although there were several full-time nurses on hand this evening and a medical doctor by trade, the matter did not appear good. Bill was unconscious and had stopped breathing, and his pulse was weak. Even from across the center aisle in dim lighting I could see his flesh turning gray. The oddest feeling ran through me.
Stunned, most of us just sat or stood in our pews, paralyzed with fear and disbelief. A beloved man of our church community was dying before our very eyes, and suddenly it no longer felt like Christmas Eve. I felt helpless, lost. Then a voice spoke out.
"Why don't we all get down on our knees and pray for the old guy?" the voice bellowed from behind me. It was our visitor, his voice slurred, but strong. "Maybe God can help him."
Like a slap in the face, many of us snapped out of our panicked stupor and knelt in agreement with the man's suggestion. There was no debate, only silent obedience to the idea. As several people continued to tend to Bill, who was near death, the rest of the congregation prayed in honest, pleading whispers. I prayed harder and more sincerely than I ever had, my wet eyes tightly shut.
Moments later, I heard a commotion to my left. I opened my eyes just as I whispered "Amen," and was shocked to see Bill sitting up, his eyes open, the paleness in his face rapidly disappearing. Happy sobs could be heard throughout the church, our prayers gloriously answered! Despite numerous inquiries, Bill determinedly assured us that he was fine. When the paramedics arrived, racing down the center aisle with their equipment and stretcher, he refused to go to the hospital with them, insisting on staying for the conclusion of the Christmas Eve mass. And after everything settled down, the service was in fact finished without further incident.
After the closing benediction and song, a raucous "Joy To The World," I turned to shake the young man's hand, but he was gone. He apparently had left during the Eucharist as the congregation filed pew-by-pew for the bread and wine, the body and blood of our Savior.
Later, I discovered that no one had ever seen the man leave. It was as if he simply vanished into thin air. No one knew his identity or anything about him. He was no one's relative, or neighbor, or co-worker. Who was the man that visited us on that precious, special night, a night we each witnessed a true miracle? A dying man was revived, saved from death, neither by science nor medicine, but by faithful prayer to God in heaven. Prayer initiated by a common stranger, a person like you or me perhaps, or the guy we pass every day in the street and pay no attention to, an unlikely angel.
(from Sharing Visions, edited by John Sumwalt -- An Unlikely Angel by David Michael Smith [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 2003], pp. 33-36)
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StoryShare, December 24-25, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
Stories: "Larry's Lesson" by Stan Purdum
"The Mystery of Christmas" by C. David McKirachan
"A Miracle in the Village" by C. David McKirachan
"The First Christmas Message" by James T. Garrett
"An Unlikely Angel" by David Michael Smith
What's Up This Week
So many things to focus on, all at one time, the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day all in a 24-hour period. In some states, retailers are appealing "blue laws" that prohibit any sales on Sunday before the afternoon hours. They fear the loss of retail profits from the anxious, restless crowds seeking those last-minute gifts -- but the true gifts lie in the breakthrough of salvation, justice, and peace into our lives as Christmas dawns. May all this be yours this season of celebration.
Larry's Lesson
by Stan Purdum
"O Lord God of hosts, how long will you be angry with your people's prayers?"
-- Psalm 80:4
Larry was ticked off.
He was 15, after all, and the state laws said he could get a student's driver's license.
Larry's father, however, said otherwise. "You're not ready" were his exact words.
For months leading up to his 15th birthday, Larry had been looking forward to getting his license. He'd gotten the driver's rule book three months ahead of time and could now almost recite it by heart. And it wasn't as if he was expecting his parents to buy him his own car or anything (not right away, anyway); he'd be quite content at present to drive one of theirs.
He pictured himself tooling into the school lot with Heather snuggled beside him. He knew better than to actually strut when we got out of the car at school -- he was no fool after all -- but walking a bit more erect would be justified. And after school, he'd drive Heather home again, of course, but he'd also transport Danny and Courtney and Jake. And naturally, if he took Jake, he'd have to take Sarah, too. There weren't actually seats for six people in either of the family cars, but they could squeeze in.
Then there'd be time to cruise around town for a while after school, and be seen behind the wheel. And he wouldn't let any grass grow under the tires either.
Yeah, that was how it would be. He was even willing to chip in on the gas.
But no. "You're not ready," his father had said.
Larry hadn't let that settle matter, of course. He'd demanded that his father recite all the reasons he was saying no. Larry was planning to one by one marshal his counter- arguments and persuade get his father to give in. But other than those three words (four actually, if you counted the contraction as two) his dad wouldn't give any reasons.
"Waddaya mean, I'm not ready?" Larry said.
"We're not going to discuss it further," his father replied. And no matter how much Larry wheedled, prodded, and even begged, his dad refused to rise to the bait.
That didn't stop Larry. He continued his campaign, raising the subject at mealtimes, when in the car with his dad, when his dad working on the paying the bills at the dining room table -- anytime really that his dad was around. Larry figured that eventually his father would get so tired of the pestering that he'd give in just to get some peace.
But that's not what happened. Instead, after about the fifth time Larry whined about how all his friends were being allowed to get their licenses, his father said, with intensity, "Larry, if you continue to bring this up every time we're together, I'm going to ground you. I'm your father, and I'll decide when you are ready. Don't bring it up again."
Stupidly Larry asked, "How long will it be before you decide I'm ready?" but when his father only looked at him darkly, even Larry knew there'd be no answer forthcoming.
Larry would have to wait on his father's good time.
Geezzzzzz!
The Mystery of Christmas
By C. David McKirachan
Consequently, when Christ came into the world, he said, "Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me; in burnt-offerings and sin-offerings you have taken no pleasure. Then I said, "See, God, I have come to do your will, O God" (in the scroll of the book it is written of me)." When he said above, "You have neither desired nor taken pleasure in sacrifices and offerings and burnt- offerings and sin-offerings" (these are offered according to the law), then he added, "See, I have come to do your will." He abolishes the first in order to establish the second. And it is by God's will that we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.
-- Hebrews 10:5-10
This old chestnut is just the heartwarming kind of nugget that we all want to hear at the end of Advent when the world is exploding and "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" is cascading down from the mall's speakers and the church's pipe organs. The writer to the Hebrews dusted off this Psalm and laid it out in wonderful pedantic redundancy to impress the blazes out of us at his esoteric capability. At least that's how it feels during Christmas week.
But foundations are rather redundant. That's what makes them secure. And they are anything but sentimental or sexy. That's what makes them stable. And that's why we bury them. I doubt many of us will trot out this oldie but goody in the midst of the panoply of magnificence that makes the latter stages of this season so inspiring and exhausting.
But I do think that it speaks to us in our desperation to have religion that is snazzy. We're driven by an entertainment and sensation hungry and effectively jaded culture to provide thrills and chills, to prove that we are not an old moldy example of some tired, pedantic, ritualistic anachronism that supports the status quo because it can't quite cut it in the new, real world. This says, give up. Stop with the processionals in step and the stadium seated extravaganzas. God, "has taken no pleasure..." in all our hoo haa. God comes in a body.
Now that's messy and rude and it insults the choir director who thinks Bach's a bit modern and what about the traditional yadda yadda yadda, and we'd better get a rock band in here somewhere, and don't forget the fire codes, and keep the services down to an hour, and don't cry in the pulpit, and you'd better cry in the pulpit... yadda yadda yadda.
It's Christmas folks. It's about intimacy and imminence and joy and mystery and glory and manure in a barn and smelly shepherds and kids asking when they crucify the shepherds and Santa showing up in Bethlehem and somehow, almost, improbably, without a prayer of really happening, Emmanuel shows up. God knows us. God loves us. I wish we could. "O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing."
Merry Christmas.
A Miracle in the Village
By C. David McKirachan
But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days. Therefore he shall give them up until the time when she who is in labour has brought forth; then the rest of his kindred shall return to the people of Israel. And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace. If the Assyrians come into our land and tread upon our soil, we will raise against them seven shepherds and eight installed as rulers.
-- Micah 5:2-5a
Suburbs are strange. They don't really exist, glommed onto the "real" population and culture centers that they surround. Bethlehem was a not a suburb, at least until the present day. It was a village on its own turf. It was a place that grew at a cross roads, having enough to allow a few people to live there who could provide services to the farmers and shepherds that scratched out a living on the almost barren hills of Judea.
Nothing happened there. Nothing came from there. If you wanted to be anybody you left there. There was nothing there to help you become anything special. It was a real town, or village depending on your demographic distinctions. And it had all the limitations and boundaries of such a small environment.
Now it is a suburb. It is just a looong stone's throw from Jerusalem. Or a short mortar lob. It is also the sight of two new additions to the landscape. A wall. Dark and forbidding it snakes across the hills, punctured by checkpoints guarded by very serious Israeli soldiers. The other is a lovely suburb better known as a refugee camp, a breeding ground for frustration and anger and hopelessness. Nothing happens there. Nothing comes from there. If you want to be anybody you leave there. There is nothing there to help you become anything special.
It is from there the savior is to come. What? Are you out of your mind? That is a hot bed for the recruitment of suicide bombers and terrorists. Yup. It's not even Christian. Nope. But the estimation of the savior being born in the blighted suburb of Bethlehem is no more ridiculous than the savior being born in a stable in the dusty, limited, sad little village that we so lovingly read about every Christmas.
God doesn't do things the way we expect. Maybe we better reconsider our Christmas pageants. Maybe we'd better stop trying to sanitize the miracles of God. That's what makes them miracles. The Christ is coming. Christ is coming into our small, cramped little lives and out of our festering angry suburbs. Our walls and efforts at control have little to do with the will of God. Praise the Lord. Wonder how the checkpoints will react to shepherds and Magi.
The Christmas Song
by James T. Garrett
Luke 1:39-45 (46-55)
The business side of Christmas -- the commercialism -- doesn't bother me as it does some. There are those who think the spiritual import of Christmas may be forgotten. There's no danger of that. The spiritual significance of Christmas is so dominant that many who are ordinarily indifferent go out of their way to find a religious service. That is part of the miracle of Christmas.
Personally, the exchange of gifts, the decorations in our homes, and the adding of color to drab streets is not a contradiction to the spiritual importance of the season. These traditions and rituals repeated each year help rekindle in our consciousness what happened a long time ago. They help us recall emotions that otherwise would get lost in the past. The simple fact God has come to be with us in Jesus Christ never grows stale. Visual images help tell the story.
The holiday season is a ritual-filled time. Rituals are important. They build solidarity and generate loyalty. Christmas is a ritual-filled day for most of us. One family has a prescribed ritual for the opening of gifts. A family member goes to the pile of gifts under the tree, picks up a gift and gives it to the person whose name is on the tag. The gift is opened while others look on trying to guess what it is. Then they go through the same ritual with the next gift and so on.
Some of the gifts are wrapped in used paper from a previous year. The mother would always say, "Now save the paper. We'll use it next year." The world is divided into two kinds of mothers: those who save wrapping paper and those who don't.
I cannot explain it, but every year it happens. A special quality of Divine Presence invades our world. It is as if a magic wand is waved over the world and everybody and everything becomes different. Year after year the world in some measure stops to listen to the story.
I love the Christmas music. Christmas has to be sung. Music and song began with the first Christmas. The song of Christmas sung by Mary is found in Luke 1:39-55.
Here is a moving account of the mother of John being visited by the mother of Jesus. A spirit of joy and celebration surrounded the births of both John and Jesus. The scene is an unnamed city in the Judean hills. Upon hearing Mary was to give birth to the Messiah, the babe leaped in Elizabeth's womb. This prenatal activity accents the sovereign will and purpose of God. Elizabeth is inspired by the Holy Spirit and blesses Mary for having been chosen to be the mother of the Lord and for believing and accepting the word spoken to her from God.
Mary's joy and excitement is expressed in a song. She praises God for the favor bestowed upon a maiden of low estate. Her song proclaims the triumph of God's purposes for all people everywhere. All the oppressed, poor, and hungry will be blessed.
"He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name." sings Mary. Ah yes, that's the song of Christmas -- God has done great things, and holy is his name. The song contains the essence of the Christmas gospel:
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,... And his mercy is on those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away."
At Christmas we celebrate a mighty act of God. God sends the gift of a child into the world. All the conditions of normal human action and achievement are absent. They're not there. It is totally, entirely, completely, absolutely the work of God. The Child is a gift of God's grace.
Of course, every birth is a gift of God's grace. Every child represents a new potential. Each newborn is a sign God has not given up on the world.
The observation has been made that during times of war and destruction the birth rate increases. Is this accidental? Or is it when the processes of men are engaged in destroying life there is One at work more authentic than the design of the human mind?
A new spirit was released into the world with the birth of Jesus. It's a mystery beyond our understanding. He who is mighty has done great things for us.
A little girl, dressed as an angel, in a Christmas pageant was told to come down the center aisle. The child asked, "Do you want me to walk or fly?" You feel as though she almost could have flown. Don't ever lose the wonder and mystery of Christmas.
Every year I'm reminded of those words of the late Peter Marshall: "When Christmas doesn't make your heart swell up until it nearly bursts and fill your eyes with tears and make you all soft and warm inside then you will know that something inside of you is dead."
The mystery of Christmas gave a young virgin a song to sing. This was not to be an ordinary birth but a virgin birth. The birth of righteousness, peace and love in this stern world is always a virgin birth. It is never humanity nor the power of mankind that brings it forth. It is always God! God working in and through those who hear and obey.
The new, the holy is to be born. If the new is to be born, then the old is going to have to give way. There is agony in the process as well as joy. Just as there is agony in the womb as it labors to give birth to new life.
Mary will give birth to a holy, eternal Child. The Child Herod could not slaughter. The Child the Roman Empire could not bury. This is God's Son. The Child who was to be born is the One who may be born again even in us.
O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today. We hear the Christmas Angels the Great glad tidings tell; O come to us Abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!
On this Sunday before Christmas Day we move closer to the manger at Bethlehem in our journey of Advent. Bethlehem will not be the end of the journey, only the beginning -- not home but the place through which we must pass if we are to reach home at last.
May Christmas put a song in your heart.
"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name."
Is there a person who is unable to say that? Repeat with me: "He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name." Amen and Amen!
(from God's Gift, by James. T. Garrett [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 1991], pp. 23-26)
The First Christmas Message
by James T. Garrett
Luke 2:1-20
The story of the birth of Jesus as told by Luke is the most familiar to most people. The familiarity of the story can be a frustrating thing for the preacher. Who is capable of rising to an occasion on which the most beautiful text of the Bible is read? It makes the preacher turn pale and stammer.
However, the familiar can be the preacher's delight. That the text and message are familiar means they already belong to you, the listeners. There is power, enjoyment, and an occasional "amen" when we hear what we already know and believe.
The record of Jesus' birth is straightforward. It is told as a historian would relate it, citing date, place, and circumstance. It is an earthly event that came straight out of heaven.
It opens with the decree of Augustus that his whole empire should be taxed. Before the tax could be imposed, there must be a census. Everyone was directed to go to their ancestral home for enrollment. Joseph and Mary went to Bethlehem. Joseph was a descendent of King David, whose home had been Bethlehem.
Jesus is to be the fulfillment of prophecy. Luke weaves the old and the new together as one fabric. The Bible tells one story -- the salvation of God.
The innkeeper had no room. The Child is born in a manger. And, the shepherds are the first to hear the good news from an angel: ... behold I bring you good news of a great joy... for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
What a nice touch God adds to the Christmas event. The shepherds were not only poor and powerless, they were despised by the religious orthodox. Their occupation took them into wilderness where they were unable to regularly observe ceremonial religious laws. Yet the temple authorities needed the shepherds. According to the Law they had to sacrifice the unblemished lambs daily. Those who looked after the sacrificial lambs were the first to know and the first to see the true Lamb of God, who "taketh away the sins of the world."
The news of the birth comes first not in a palace hall but in the fields, to the poor shepherds. The shepherds acted immediately. They went with haste to the manger. There they found the babe -- a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
Jesus was born to be the Savior of the world. That was the first Christmas message. It is the Christmas message today. That's what we all really need -- a Savior! We want to know forgiveness, salvation, peace with God. A longing both universal and personal. It is ancient and modern. Our whole world needs the Savior.
You have received many invitations during this season but none is more important, or equal to the one sent by God at Christmas. In Jesus Christ each of you has a personal invitation from God with an RSVP. There is evil in the world, but we can rise above it. There is much that is ugly and indecent, but it is possible to live a good life. Death is still with us, grief and sorrow, but death no longer has power over us. New life begins in Jesus Christ.
That night when in Judean skies
The mystic star dispensed her light
A blind man moved amid his sleep
And dreamed that he had sight.
That night when shepherds heard the song
of hosts angelic choiring near,
A deaf man stirred in slumber's spell
And dreamed he could hear.
That night when in the cattle stall
Slept child and mother cheek by jowl
A cripple turned his twisted limbs,
And dreamed that he was whole.
That night when o'er the newborn babe
The tender Mary rose to lean
A lothsome leper smiled in sleep,
And dreamed that he was clean.
That night when in a manger lay
The Sanctified who came to save
A man moved in the sleep of death,
And dreamed there was no grave.
-- Author unknown
Not only 'that night' but every night since his birth people of faith have been able to dream and live with new hope. It's what makes the good times great and the bad times bearable.
Fred Craddock tells about a trip to his home state of Tennessee. He was in a restaurant in the Smoky Mountains. It was one of those informal places where the proprietor is the waiter, the cashier, and the greeter. He moved from table to table, visiting with the diners. He introduced himself to Dr. Craddock and wanted to know who he was and what he did. Craddock confessed that he was a preacher. The cafe owner pulled up an empty chair and sat down, and began to tell his whole life's story.
The man said that he was born in a little town in Tennessee, not far from where they were. He was born to a mother who wasn't married. It was the kind of town where everybody knows everybody else, what they've done, all the gossip and scandals. They had a name for someone who was born to an unmarried mother, and the boy got used to hearing that name before he even knew what it meant. It followed him to school. On the playground he would hear it from other children. When he went downtown, all looked at him as if he were somehow different from others. His mother wanted him to go to Sunday school, but even the church people seemed to look at him as if they were afraid he might be a bad influence on their own children.
One day a new preacher came to town. The boy went to church. When the service was over he tried to hurry out. The preacher stopped him at the door. He said, "Who are you, son, whose boy are you?" He felt that he would like to crawl into a hole somewhere. The new minister had obviously already heard about him. But before he could answer, the preacher said with a warm smile on his face, "Wait a minute! I know who you are." He leaned down and looked closely into the boy's face and said, "I can see a family resemblance. You are a child of God." Then he put his hands on the boy's shoulders and straightened up and said, "Boy, you've got quite an inheritance. Go out and claim it."
God made Christmas for us. But there is a sense in which all of us have to make our Christmas. All the salvation of God is finished and complete, but it is not mine until I claim it.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still
The dear Christ enters in.
"A Savior for you is born this day." Tonight, as you take the bread in your hands, let it once again be the sign of your salvation. We are saved, through the life, the death and the resurrection of One born so long ago in a little town called Bethlehem.
You are forgiven. You are loved. Peace on earth and goodwill to everyone. Merry Christmas!
(from God's Gift, by James. T. Garrett [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 1991], pp. 27-30)
Sharing Visions
Edited by John Sumwalt
An Unlikely Angel
David Michael Smith
Luke 2:1-20
He staggered in fifteen minutes after the traditional holiday hymn sing had begun, plopping with a thud in the wooden pew directly behind me. It was Christmas Eve night at historic St. Paul's Episcopal Church in the small and quaint town of Georgetown, Delaware, and midnight mass was scheduled to commence in about twenty minutes. Dozens of candles cast a warm glow throughout the church. The pipe organist was playing a seasonal tune, the congregation joining the choir in a unified voice of celebration and joy.
I recall smelling the strong odor of alcohol, right behind me. Trying to appear inconspicuous, I nonchalantly turned at an angle while still pretending to sing so I could glance at the whiskey-breathed intruder. A young man, perhaps age 25, maybe younger, sat alone in the pew, a drunken smile plastered across his unshaven face. His hair was bushy and uncombed, his clothing unbefitting of a holy and reverent church service. I did not recognize the fellow, and later would learn that nobody else knew who the man was either. And Georgetown's the type of friendly place where everyone seems to know just about everyone else, and their family tree. Just call us "Mayberry."
It became immediately obvious to me that the man was confused, disoriented. Not just with the Christmas Eve service, which for a first-time visitor can be somewhat perplexing despite the bulletins the ushers hand out, but in general. He stumbled aimlessly through the hymnal and a prayer book like a child leafing through coloring books at the doctor's office. He was intoxicated and his behavior made me uncomfortable. Judging by the numerous nervous stares I observed, targeted in the young man's direction, some subtle and some not so subtle, others shared my opinion.
Then, a good-natured parishioner named Bob left his family and his regularly appointed pew, and joined the fellow, shaking his hand and introducing himself with a warm smile. Bob helped the man throughout the remainder of the hymn sing, assisting the delighted guy with locating the proper songs and directing him with basic liturgical functions such as when to stand, sit, and kneel. With each song, the intoxicated stranger sang zealously louder and genuinely off key, although I suspect he felt he was performing as well as Pavarotti or Sinatra. I found his butchering of the traditional holiday carols both disturbing and amusing at the same time. He was having enthusiastic fun. But he surely couldn't sing a lick! Indeed, our uninvited visitor was certainly a ball of tightly- bound entertainment. The hymn sing-a-long ended and the service began with "O Come, All Ye Faithful," a procession of priests in robes and acolytes bearing torches entering from the back of the church. Someone in the procession waved a canister of incense around, preparing the sanctuary for worship and God's presence, but it made my eyes water and I sneezed. The service continued without incident with prayer and Bible readings about the birth of the Savior, the infant Jesus. Good Samaritan Bob continued to befriend the man, much to his delight. I traded smiles with the man, my heart softening.
"Why was I angry that he came here tonight?" I thought to myself. "This is God's house, not mine, and all are welcomed in the Lord's house." I wondered if the young man was lonely, depressed on this wonderful holiday eve, first seeking the comfort of a bottle, drowning unknown sorrows, and later journeying by our church. Perhaps he heard the festive Christmas music outside the ancient brick walls, and then saw the church aglow, holly wreaths hanging from the huge oaken doors, like one of those wonderful Thomas Kinkade paintings, so inviting. Something deep within his heart led him to come inside, an inner voice urging him to enter the warmth of the real-life artwork. Maybe he was simply in need of acceptance and love. I pondered about who he was and where he was from. Did he have a family? Was he married? Children? He was somebody.
Then, the priest moved to the pulpit to begin his Christmas homily. The Father had preached for only a few minutes when abruptly he stopped his sermon message. I thought he had lost his place, or was pausing for oratorical effect. But I was wrong. I noticed him looking down on the congregation, a concerned frown rippling across his forehead. A low, curious murmur spread throughout the people. About four pews back from the front, on the left side, often referred to as the Epistle side, Bill, an elderly man who faithfully attended each and every Sunday, had slumped over. Several members of the congregation moved to his aid, thinking he had merely passed out. The situation, however, was far graver.
The service came to a complete halt as one parishioner sprinted to call 9-1-1. Several people laid Bill down on his back in the pew and attempted to revive him. Although there were several full-time nurses on hand this evening and a medical doctor by trade, the matter did not appear good. Bill was unconscious and had stopped breathing, and his pulse was weak. Even from across the center aisle in dim lighting I could see his flesh turning gray. The oddest feeling ran through me.
Stunned, most of us just sat or stood in our pews, paralyzed with fear and disbelief. A beloved man of our church community was dying before our very eyes, and suddenly it no longer felt like Christmas Eve. I felt helpless, lost. Then a voice spoke out.
"Why don't we all get down on our knees and pray for the old guy?" the voice bellowed from behind me. It was our visitor, his voice slurred, but strong. "Maybe God can help him."
Like a slap in the face, many of us snapped out of our panicked stupor and knelt in agreement with the man's suggestion. There was no debate, only silent obedience to the idea. As several people continued to tend to Bill, who was near death, the rest of the congregation prayed in honest, pleading whispers. I prayed harder and more sincerely than I ever had, my wet eyes tightly shut.
Moments later, I heard a commotion to my left. I opened my eyes just as I whispered "Amen," and was shocked to see Bill sitting up, his eyes open, the paleness in his face rapidly disappearing. Happy sobs could be heard throughout the church, our prayers gloriously answered! Despite numerous inquiries, Bill determinedly assured us that he was fine. When the paramedics arrived, racing down the center aisle with their equipment and stretcher, he refused to go to the hospital with them, insisting on staying for the conclusion of the Christmas Eve mass. And after everything settled down, the service was in fact finished without further incident.
After the closing benediction and song, a raucous "Joy To The World," I turned to shake the young man's hand, but he was gone. He apparently had left during the Eucharist as the congregation filed pew-by-pew for the bread and wine, the body and blood of our Savior.
Later, I discovered that no one had ever seen the man leave. It was as if he simply vanished into thin air. No one knew his identity or anything about him. He was no one's relative, or neighbor, or co-worker. Who was the man that visited us on that precious, special night, a night we each witnessed a true miracle? A dying man was revived, saved from death, neither by science nor medicine, but by faithful prayer to God in heaven. Prayer initiated by a common stranger, a person like you or me perhaps, or the guy we pass every day in the street and pay no attention to, an unlikely angel.
(from Sharing Visions, edited by John Sumwalt -- An Unlikely Angel by David Michael Smith [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing Co., Inc., 2003], pp. 33-36)
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How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and email the story to us.
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StoryShare, December 24-25, 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.
