Left Behind
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Stories
Contents
“Left Behind” by Keith Hewitt
“Faith In the Spirit” by Peter Andrew Smith
Left Behind
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 1:1-11
It was the damnedest thing…
When I was eleven, my father went to Rome for business. I didn’t know why, exactly, I only knew that he was leaving a week before my birthday and that he would be gone for most of the summer. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but Father needs to do this,” he’d said when he broke the news to me. “There are some very important men that I have to see, in Rome, and I have to go as soon as it’s safe to sail. There’s a lot of money at stake, and it’s just the way it is.”
And that was his way of ending any discussion: “it’s just the way it is.” Once those words were spoken, there was no point in talking to the man. Well, to be honest there wasn’t much point in talking to the man, anyway, but as a businessman he had learned to listen and carry on conversations even though he had no intention of letting them influence his decisions. By the time I was eleven I’d learned to read his face and knew that the automatic smile and thousand-yard stare meant he was not really engaged in the conversation.
Still, he tried. The next day, under a constant rain of questions, he’d explained to me how the voyage to Rome would take about seven weeks, so even if he was able to accomplish everything he needed to accomplish and talk to everyone he needed to talk to in record time, it would still be at least fifteen or sixteen weeks before he returned to Caesarea. If people were out of town—there was a pretty good chance that some of them would be out of town for the summer, at least—those fifteen or sixteen weeks could turn into a year.
“Once you get into the autumn season,” he’d explained, “the weather becomes undependable, and once winter comes it’s just too dangerous to sail. Even if I wanted to take the chance, no commercial ship would take me. No captain would risk his ship.”
“So, I might be a teenager before I see you again?” I’d asked in dismay.
“It’s possible,” he said bluntly, then seemed to realize from the look on my face that those were not the words I wanted to hear. He floundered for a moment or two, then said, “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Matthew—just for you. The day I arrive in Rome, the very hour I arrive, I will find you a gift. Something very special, meant just for you. And I will send it to you with the next ship leaving port from Ostia for Caesarea.”
That was a first, for him, and it stirred my interest even through my childish disappointment. “What will it be?” I asked warily.
He smiled and patted me on the head. “Something special, to remember me by and to help get you through these long months. You’ll see,” he promised, and tousled my hair—an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture.
“But what—” I started to say, and stopped as I saw the smile form, like a mask, while his eyes no longer seemed present.
“You’ll see when it gets here,” he said, “that’s all I can tell you. It’s just the way it is.”
And boom—the conversation was over.
The next couple of days were pretty miserable, with me moping around the house and Mother and Father trying to act as if nothing was wrong, that his jaunt to the other side of the world was nothing more significant than his frequent trips to Jerusalem, and that he would be back before we ever realized he was gone. Mother chirped continuously, cheerful prattle that just went on and on, and Father confined his talk to weather, politics, and the shortcomings of our local synagogue. Even at eleven, it made me want to scream—and far from making things feel normal, it all just made me angry. I’m afraid I was not a joy to be around.
But I felt I’d earned that right and clung to it.
On the last day, Mother and I went to the port to see Father leave. It was a tense scene, me just feeling a swirl of emotions as I waited for his ship to leave the dock: abandonment, fear, anger, frustration all whirled within me, so much that I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to Father. Just, all of a sudden, he turned and walked up the gangway and was gone; a few minutes later the dock workers took down the gangway and tossed the mooring ropes back onto the ship.
I stood on the wall above the dock and watched his ship slip away. It seemed slow, at first, as it cleared the enclosed harbor and ventured out beyond the breakwaters—but then it seemed to pick up speed as it aimed toward the orange globe of the sun that was almost touching the horizon. The sail billowed, and the ship grew tinier and tinier until it was gone—either too small to see or lost over the curve of the ocean.
I stood on the wall for a while, yet, sorting through my feelings. Even as I watched his ship disappear, my heart had ached that he was leaving, but that was offset by the anticipation of what would come next—what would be this wonderful gift that I would receive at some indefinite time I the future? And alongside those, there was the unknowable question of when? When would he be back?
How much would I grow in his absence?
And as I said, it was the damnedest thing…
Twenty-five years later, almost to the day, I was standing on a hilltop, looking into the sky as Jesus was lifted up, watching with a dumfounded expression as he shrunk from view until he was gone, vanished into the wispy white clouds of spring, and all those same emotions were churning within me once again.
Suddenly I was an eleven-year-old boy, and my heart ached that Jesus was being taken away from us again—it seemed so unfair after he had been miraculously returned to us after that bitter Friday. In my grief, though, I couldn’t help but think of the promise he had made—this comforter who would come to us, this great gift that could lift the sense of loss that his leaving left within us. And through all that, the question of time would not go away: when would he be back? When would our teacher, our mentor—our friend and Savior—return to us?
It was unbearable, not to know—and yet familiar. The way he had shut down our questions about whether this was the time when the kingdom would be restored reminded me of Father. He might just as well have said, “It’s just the way it is.”
But for all the uncertainty, there was one thing I knew for sure: unlike the father of that eleven-year-old boy, Jesus would be back. As I stood and watched him disappear, just as Father’s ship had done so many years before, I nodded to myself. When, where, and how might be mysteries—but they were mysteries wrapped in certainty: he would be back.
There would be no disappointments this time.
* * *
Faith In the Spirit
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 24:44-53
Andy tapped his foot and turned the page of the book in front of him. “I don’t get it Scott.”
“You don’t get what?”
“Why did we agree to this?” Andy held up the leader’s guide to the Vacation Bible School. “I mean neither of us are really great with kids.”
“You helped raise three brothers. I looked after two sisters. We met volunteering at the after-school program in our neighborhood. Why would you say that we’re not good with kids?”
“Sure, we’re okay when other people are in charge.” Andy slumped back in his chair. “I mean your Mom was always around and my Grandma was only a call away when I ran into trouble. At the after-school program we always did what other people told us. This time though, we’re in charge.”
Scott shrugged. “I suspect we’ll do what we did when Mom was away, your Grandma was out shopping, and the adults left us in charge. We’ll remember what we were taught and do the best that we can do.”
“Yeah, but that was fun and games stuff.” Andy held up the Bible. “This is about God. What are we doing teaching a group of young people about God?”
“We both have gone to church all our lives. We both went through Sunday School, joined the church together, and hey we’ve even been to youth rallies.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make us experts and it sure doesn’t prepare us for leading kids who have never heard stories from the Bible and help them to come to know Jesus.” Andy frowned. “We’re in over our heads.”
Scott nodded. “There is no doubt about that.”
“What?” Andy got to his feet. “How can you be so calm if you think we’re going to fall flat on our faces?”
“Hey, calm down.” Scott reached out and guided Andy back to his chair. “I never said that we’re going to fail.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that we’re doing something that we’ve never done before and we might get some of it wrong as we learn how to do it.”
“That’s what I mean.” Andy leaned forward. “We’re going to make a mess of this.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
Andy frowned. “Explain please.”
“You remember after Easter when Jesus was talking to the disciples?”
“Yeah, sure. He taught them lots of things about what had happened at the cross and why God raised him from the grave. I remember Pastor Willie talking about that lots of times.”
Scott opened the Bible to the end of Luke’s gospel. “Just before he left the disciples, Jesus told them that they would have to go out into the world to proclaim the gospel to people who had never heard it before.”
“Just like us.”
“Exactly,” Scott said. “More than that though, Jesus promised them that the Holy Spirt would be there to help them when the time was right.”
“Okay. So what?”
Scott closed the Bible. “So that’s why I’m not worried.”
“Because the disciples did a bang-up job with what Jesus told them to do?’
“They did but that’s not my point.”
Andy scratched his head. “So, what’s your point because you lost me?”
“Jesus promised them help in being apostles. He gave them the Holy Spirit to show them how to tell the story, to get through the rough times, and to take the gospel message not just to the people who knew about the man from Nazareth but also to people who had never heard or were hostile to the good news of Jesus Christ.”
“Huh. I never thought of that before.”
Scott nodded. “So, I believe that the Holy Spirit has been promised to us, too. That when we need it, we will have the words, the wisdom, and the ability to show these kids the good news of Jesus so they can let God into their lives.”
“Wow.” Andy thought for a few minutes and then narrowed his eyes. “How will we know when we’re ready?”
“We do all the preparation we can.” Scott held up the leader’s guide to the program they had selected for the week. “Which is why you and I are going over lesson plans, making sure we have materials, and why we’re having this conversation.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It’s not going to be enough, my friend.” Scott smiled. “The promise isn’t that we’ll be ready and confident in ourselves but that the Holy Spirit will work through us so that we will be able to do what God needs us to do.”
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 21, 2020 issue.
Copyright 2020 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.
“Left Behind” by Keith Hewitt
“Faith In the Spirit” by Peter Andrew Smith
Left Behind
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 1:1-11
It was the damnedest thing…
When I was eleven, my father went to Rome for business. I didn’t know why, exactly, I only knew that he was leaving a week before my birthday and that he would be gone for most of the summer. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but Father needs to do this,” he’d said when he broke the news to me. “There are some very important men that I have to see, in Rome, and I have to go as soon as it’s safe to sail. There’s a lot of money at stake, and it’s just the way it is.”
And that was his way of ending any discussion: “it’s just the way it is.” Once those words were spoken, there was no point in talking to the man. Well, to be honest there wasn’t much point in talking to the man, anyway, but as a businessman he had learned to listen and carry on conversations even though he had no intention of letting them influence his decisions. By the time I was eleven I’d learned to read his face and knew that the automatic smile and thousand-yard stare meant he was not really engaged in the conversation.
Still, he tried. The next day, under a constant rain of questions, he’d explained to me how the voyage to Rome would take about seven weeks, so even if he was able to accomplish everything he needed to accomplish and talk to everyone he needed to talk to in record time, it would still be at least fifteen or sixteen weeks before he returned to Caesarea. If people were out of town—there was a pretty good chance that some of them would be out of town for the summer, at least—those fifteen or sixteen weeks could turn into a year.
“Once you get into the autumn season,” he’d explained, “the weather becomes undependable, and once winter comes it’s just too dangerous to sail. Even if I wanted to take the chance, no commercial ship would take me. No captain would risk his ship.”
“So, I might be a teenager before I see you again?” I’d asked in dismay.
“It’s possible,” he said bluntly, then seemed to realize from the look on my face that those were not the words I wanted to hear. He floundered for a moment or two, then said, “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Matthew—just for you. The day I arrive in Rome, the very hour I arrive, I will find you a gift. Something very special, meant just for you. And I will send it to you with the next ship leaving port from Ostia for Caesarea.”
That was a first, for him, and it stirred my interest even through my childish disappointment. “What will it be?” I asked warily.
He smiled and patted me on the head. “Something special, to remember me by and to help get you through these long months. You’ll see,” he promised, and tousled my hair—an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture.
“But what—” I started to say, and stopped as I saw the smile form, like a mask, while his eyes no longer seemed present.
“You’ll see when it gets here,” he said, “that’s all I can tell you. It’s just the way it is.”
And boom—the conversation was over.
The next couple of days were pretty miserable, with me moping around the house and Mother and Father trying to act as if nothing was wrong, that his jaunt to the other side of the world was nothing more significant than his frequent trips to Jerusalem, and that he would be back before we ever realized he was gone. Mother chirped continuously, cheerful prattle that just went on and on, and Father confined his talk to weather, politics, and the shortcomings of our local synagogue. Even at eleven, it made me want to scream—and far from making things feel normal, it all just made me angry. I’m afraid I was not a joy to be around.
But I felt I’d earned that right and clung to it.
On the last day, Mother and I went to the port to see Father leave. It was a tense scene, me just feeling a swirl of emotions as I waited for his ship to leave the dock: abandonment, fear, anger, frustration all whirled within me, so much that I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to Father. Just, all of a sudden, he turned and walked up the gangway and was gone; a few minutes later the dock workers took down the gangway and tossed the mooring ropes back onto the ship.
I stood on the wall above the dock and watched his ship slip away. It seemed slow, at first, as it cleared the enclosed harbor and ventured out beyond the breakwaters—but then it seemed to pick up speed as it aimed toward the orange globe of the sun that was almost touching the horizon. The sail billowed, and the ship grew tinier and tinier until it was gone—either too small to see or lost over the curve of the ocean.
I stood on the wall for a while, yet, sorting through my feelings. Even as I watched his ship disappear, my heart had ached that he was leaving, but that was offset by the anticipation of what would come next—what would be this wonderful gift that I would receive at some indefinite time I the future? And alongside those, there was the unknowable question of when? When would he be back?
How much would I grow in his absence?
And as I said, it was the damnedest thing…
Twenty-five years later, almost to the day, I was standing on a hilltop, looking into the sky as Jesus was lifted up, watching with a dumfounded expression as he shrunk from view until he was gone, vanished into the wispy white clouds of spring, and all those same emotions were churning within me once again.
Suddenly I was an eleven-year-old boy, and my heart ached that Jesus was being taken away from us again—it seemed so unfair after he had been miraculously returned to us after that bitter Friday. In my grief, though, I couldn’t help but think of the promise he had made—this comforter who would come to us, this great gift that could lift the sense of loss that his leaving left within us. And through all that, the question of time would not go away: when would he be back? When would our teacher, our mentor—our friend and Savior—return to us?
It was unbearable, not to know—and yet familiar. The way he had shut down our questions about whether this was the time when the kingdom would be restored reminded me of Father. He might just as well have said, “It’s just the way it is.”
But for all the uncertainty, there was one thing I knew for sure: unlike the father of that eleven-year-old boy, Jesus would be back. As I stood and watched him disappear, just as Father’s ship had done so many years before, I nodded to myself. When, where, and how might be mysteries—but they were mysteries wrapped in certainty: he would be back.
There would be no disappointments this time.
* * *
Faith In the Spirit
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 24:44-53
Andy tapped his foot and turned the page of the book in front of him. “I don’t get it Scott.”
“You don’t get what?”
“Why did we agree to this?” Andy held up the leader’s guide to the Vacation Bible School. “I mean neither of us are really great with kids.”
“You helped raise three brothers. I looked after two sisters. We met volunteering at the after-school program in our neighborhood. Why would you say that we’re not good with kids?”
“Sure, we’re okay when other people are in charge.” Andy slumped back in his chair. “I mean your Mom was always around and my Grandma was only a call away when I ran into trouble. At the after-school program we always did what other people told us. This time though, we’re in charge.”
Scott shrugged. “I suspect we’ll do what we did when Mom was away, your Grandma was out shopping, and the adults left us in charge. We’ll remember what we were taught and do the best that we can do.”
“Yeah, but that was fun and games stuff.” Andy held up the Bible. “This is about God. What are we doing teaching a group of young people about God?”
“We both have gone to church all our lives. We both went through Sunday School, joined the church together, and hey we’ve even been to youth rallies.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make us experts and it sure doesn’t prepare us for leading kids who have never heard stories from the Bible and help them to come to know Jesus.” Andy frowned. “We’re in over our heads.”
Scott nodded. “There is no doubt about that.”
“What?” Andy got to his feet. “How can you be so calm if you think we’re going to fall flat on our faces?”
“Hey, calm down.” Scott reached out and guided Andy back to his chair. “I never said that we’re going to fail.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that we’re doing something that we’ve never done before and we might get some of it wrong as we learn how to do it.”
“That’s what I mean.” Andy leaned forward. “We’re going to make a mess of this.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
Andy frowned. “Explain please.”
“You remember after Easter when Jesus was talking to the disciples?”
“Yeah, sure. He taught them lots of things about what had happened at the cross and why God raised him from the grave. I remember Pastor Willie talking about that lots of times.”
Scott opened the Bible to the end of Luke’s gospel. “Just before he left the disciples, Jesus told them that they would have to go out into the world to proclaim the gospel to people who had never heard it before.”
“Just like us.”
“Exactly,” Scott said. “More than that though, Jesus promised them that the Holy Spirt would be there to help them when the time was right.”
“Okay. So what?”
Scott closed the Bible. “So that’s why I’m not worried.”
“Because the disciples did a bang-up job with what Jesus told them to do?’
“They did but that’s not my point.”
Andy scratched his head. “So, what’s your point because you lost me?”
“Jesus promised them help in being apostles. He gave them the Holy Spirit to show them how to tell the story, to get through the rough times, and to take the gospel message not just to the people who knew about the man from Nazareth but also to people who had never heard or were hostile to the good news of Jesus Christ.”
“Huh. I never thought of that before.”
Scott nodded. “So, I believe that the Holy Spirit has been promised to us, too. That when we need it, we will have the words, the wisdom, and the ability to show these kids the good news of Jesus so they can let God into their lives.”
“Wow.” Andy thought for a few minutes and then narrowed his eyes. “How will we know when we’re ready?”
“We do all the preparation we can.” Scott held up the leader’s guide to the program they had selected for the week. “Which is why you and I are going over lesson plans, making sure we have materials, and why we’re having this conversation.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It’s not going to be enough, my friend.” Scott smiled. “The promise isn’t that we’ll be ready and confident in ourselves but that the Holy Spirit will work through us so that we will be able to do what God needs us to do.”
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 21, 2020 issue.
Copyright 2020 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.
