On Level Ground
Stories
Object:
Contents
"On Level Ground" by Keith Hewitt
"May God Go With You" by Constance Berg
* * * * * * * *
On Level Ground
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 26
"There are... things... that are going to be happening in the next month, and the Ministry has expressed concern that there may be inappropriate reactions in some quarters."
Reverend Bloch shifted in his chair, took a moment to settle himself in the new position... gave himself some conversational space while he considered the words of the man on the other side of the desk. Tall, sparely built, with a narrow face that put Bloch in mind of something that might scurry around his kitchen floor if the light were turned on suddenly; there was something about him that raised the hairs on the back of Bloch's neck before the man even spoke. When he did speak, his voice was soft and oily, slightly labored as though every word had been individually carved out of moldy cheese as it was uttered.
"What kinds of things?" asked Bloch after a short silence, adding the same odd emphasis as his visitor.
The man's gaze shifted up and over Bloch's left shoulder, and his mouth opened, then closed while the tip of his pink tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. Still looking beyond Bloch, he said, "They are secular things, Father --"
"Pastor," corrected Bloch.
"-- things that don't really concern the Church or yourself." He lowered his eyes then fixed them on Bloch. "Political things, shall we say?"
Bloch frowned, camouflaged it by raising his hand and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Without knowing precisely why, he felt that he was tiptoeing along the edge of a chasm -- had felt it since the man had walked in and showed his credentials, requested an immediate meeting. "If they are just political things, then I am sure you know the Church has no institutional interest in them," he answered carefully. "The affairs of the people's government are not the affairs of the Church -- nor of mine."
Without releasing Bloch's eyes, the man nodded and smiled -- a slight expression of easy victory. "Then we understand one another, for that is the Ministry's view, as well. So if, in reaction to these changes, there are demonstrations or other illegal acts, we can count on you not supporting them. And if there are arrests... or other activities that come about because of these changes... we trust that you will not acknowledge or address them. You will not add fuel to the fire."
Ice formed at the base of his neck and trickled down his spine. "What, exactly, are you talking about?" he asked slowly, wishing suddenly that he had not been in the office when the man came by.
The thin man shrugged, a motion almost hidden by the padding of his jacket. "You know the times we live in, Father --"
"Pastor," Bloch corrected automatically.
"-- they are uncertain. The economy is faltering, there are terrorist threats from without and within, there is just so much uncertainty and fear out there -- and it all needs to be brought under control, whatever it takes to do so. It is our duty to bring them all... under... control. Just as it is your duty and the duty of all good citizens to allow the exercise of that control."
"I see," Bloch said slowly and was afraid that he did, all too well.
"Good. Then we understand one another."
Bloch took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to calm the fluttering in his stomach to rise above the sudden urge to shiver that seemed to have grabbed hold of him. "Before you leave, I want to make sure you understand me," he said quietly, when he was sure his voice wouldn't tremble.
The visitor looked at him closely, his thin, almost sculpted eyebrows drawing together.
"I am a citizen of this country, and I have been all my life -- a good one, I think."
"There is nothing in your record that would make us think otherwise," the visitor said.
Bloch went on without acknowledging him -- but that simple statement lodged in his belly like an arrow. "But more than a citizen of this country -- more than a citizen of this country," he repeated, "I belong to God. As someone who has been called to minister to his people, whoever and wherever they might be, my job -- my privilege -- is to guide others along their way, to help those who are in need, or have been forgotten... and to stand for justice, where I see injustice.
The visitor's eyes had hardened as Bloch spoke. Now his words matched the look in his eyes. "Justice and injustice are flexible terms."
"They might be, to you, but not to me. Not to God."
There was a long silence, then, filled only by the ticking of the clock. Finally the visitor stood up, buttoned his coat. "So you have chosen your side... Pastor Bloch. I hope you will reconsider, once things begin to happen." He looked around slowly, nodding with slight bob of his head, before fixing his eyes on Bloch again. "Things could become very unpleasant for you, if you persist."
Bloch rose from his seat, spread his hands, palms up. "I don't have a lot of choice. I know what's right."
The two men stared at one another across the desk for a few moments more, then the visitor grunted and got up, buttoned his coat, and turned away without saying a word. As he reached the door, Bloch raised his voice slightly. "Oh -- and there's one more thing."
The man turned, glared. "Yes."
"God loves you too."
"If he loved you, he would change your mind."
"He did -- the day I was forgiven. And now I know what's right, and I can't just throw that away," Bloch answered with a gentle smile.
"Then I hope you're ready for what comes next."
"Me too." Bloch murmured, as the thin man left.
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 October 2012. He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
May God Go With You
by Constance Berg
Mark 10:2-16
Things weren't going very well. Angelica's husband's paycheck wasn't due for another week. Last month's pharmacy bill was over $200. And the emergency room had wanted cash when she brought her son in. The asthma attack couldn't have come at a worse time.
Angelica eyed the clock. Four a.m. She looked at her husband, sleeping peacefully, wishing she could sleep so soundly. She quietly rolled over and tiptoed out the room.
The recliner was comfortable and the little afghan felt good on her legs. She looked out the window and sighed. A star was twinkling overhead and the moon cast a bright glow over the yard. The swing set seemed to be in a soft spotlight. Angelica couldn't resist and went outside.
The grass felt so soft beneath her feet. The cat purred softly on the porch. She opened her eyes just long enough to make sure Angelica wasn't a stranger.
Angelica sat on a swing. She loved her yard. They had taken great pains to put in shade in just the right places. Huge pots of geraniums marked the corners. Tall corn bordered the garden to the side. She could just taste the tomatoes and cucumbers they would enjoy in a month or so.
She took a deep breath. Ahh, the night seemed to have a perfume to it. Maybe it was the eucalyptus trees growing to the south. Or perhaps it was the gardenias. The tea olive was in bloom. It was her favorite scent of all as it blew through the house on a warm summer day.
Her children loved to play here. Their friends filled the yard on many holidays. Family members would spill over the lawns at every celebration. It was a lively, fun place.
Yet it was a quiet, magical place too. Angelica loved to read novels on the hammock on Sunday afternoons. And gardening was her quiet time, her time to think about things, to ask God to give her strength and to give her direction. It was a blessed spot. She bowed her head and asked for God's presence in the days ahead. She asked for guidance in making decisions. And she thanked God for the many blessings in her life. There were so many! How could she even begin to count them all? Children, a faithful husband, loyal friends, and a close family. She would make it because God would be with her.
She crept back into the kitchen noiselessly. As she turned to close the door, her eye caught a postcard. She had bought it at a restored Norwegian stave church while on vacation during better times. It read:
As you go on your way, May God go with you.
May He go before you to show you the way;
May He go behind you to encourage you;
Beside you to befriend you;
Above you to watch over you;
And within you to give you peace.
Angelica did feel peace -- a peace of knowing God was with her, a peace of knowing that, all in all, things would work out.
from Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series II, Cycle B (CSS Publishing Company, Inc.: Lima, Ohio, 1999), pp. 127-128.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 7, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
"On Level Ground" by Keith Hewitt
"May God Go With You" by Constance Berg
* * * * * * * *
On Level Ground
by Keith Hewitt
Psalm 26
"There are... things... that are going to be happening in the next month, and the Ministry has expressed concern that there may be inappropriate reactions in some quarters."
Reverend Bloch shifted in his chair, took a moment to settle himself in the new position... gave himself some conversational space while he considered the words of the man on the other side of the desk. Tall, sparely built, with a narrow face that put Bloch in mind of something that might scurry around his kitchen floor if the light were turned on suddenly; there was something about him that raised the hairs on the back of Bloch's neck before the man even spoke. When he did speak, his voice was soft and oily, slightly labored as though every word had been individually carved out of moldy cheese as it was uttered.
"What kinds of things?" asked Bloch after a short silence, adding the same odd emphasis as his visitor.
The man's gaze shifted up and over Bloch's left shoulder, and his mouth opened, then closed while the tip of his pink tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. Still looking beyond Bloch, he said, "They are secular things, Father --"
"Pastor," corrected Bloch.
"-- things that don't really concern the Church or yourself." He lowered his eyes then fixed them on Bloch. "Political things, shall we say?"
Bloch frowned, camouflaged it by raising his hand and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Without knowing precisely why, he felt that he was tiptoeing along the edge of a chasm -- had felt it since the man had walked in and showed his credentials, requested an immediate meeting. "If they are just political things, then I am sure you know the Church has no institutional interest in them," he answered carefully. "The affairs of the people's government are not the affairs of the Church -- nor of mine."
Without releasing Bloch's eyes, the man nodded and smiled -- a slight expression of easy victory. "Then we understand one another, for that is the Ministry's view, as well. So if, in reaction to these changes, there are demonstrations or other illegal acts, we can count on you not supporting them. And if there are arrests... or other activities that come about because of these changes... we trust that you will not acknowledge or address them. You will not add fuel to the fire."
Ice formed at the base of his neck and trickled down his spine. "What, exactly, are you talking about?" he asked slowly, wishing suddenly that he had not been in the office when the man came by.
The thin man shrugged, a motion almost hidden by the padding of his jacket. "You know the times we live in, Father --"
"Pastor," Bloch corrected automatically.
"-- they are uncertain. The economy is faltering, there are terrorist threats from without and within, there is just so much uncertainty and fear out there -- and it all needs to be brought under control, whatever it takes to do so. It is our duty to bring them all... under... control. Just as it is your duty and the duty of all good citizens to allow the exercise of that control."
"I see," Bloch said slowly and was afraid that he did, all too well.
"Good. Then we understand one another."
Bloch took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to calm the fluttering in his stomach to rise above the sudden urge to shiver that seemed to have grabbed hold of him. "Before you leave, I want to make sure you understand me," he said quietly, when he was sure his voice wouldn't tremble.
The visitor looked at him closely, his thin, almost sculpted eyebrows drawing together.
"I am a citizen of this country, and I have been all my life -- a good one, I think."
"There is nothing in your record that would make us think otherwise," the visitor said.
Bloch went on without acknowledging him -- but that simple statement lodged in his belly like an arrow. "But more than a citizen of this country -- more than a citizen of this country," he repeated, "I belong to God. As someone who has been called to minister to his people, whoever and wherever they might be, my job -- my privilege -- is to guide others along their way, to help those who are in need, or have been forgotten... and to stand for justice, where I see injustice.
The visitor's eyes had hardened as Bloch spoke. Now his words matched the look in his eyes. "Justice and injustice are flexible terms."
"They might be, to you, but not to me. Not to God."
There was a long silence, then, filled only by the ticking of the clock. Finally the visitor stood up, buttoned his coat. "So you have chosen your side... Pastor Bloch. I hope you will reconsider, once things begin to happen." He looked around slowly, nodding with slight bob of his head, before fixing his eyes on Bloch again. "Things could become very unpleasant for you, if you persist."
Bloch rose from his seat, spread his hands, palms up. "I don't have a lot of choice. I know what's right."
The two men stared at one another across the desk for a few moments more, then the visitor grunted and got up, buttoned his coat, and turned away without saying a word. As he reached the door, Bloch raised his voice slightly. "Oh -- and there's one more thing."
The man turned, glared. "Yes."
"God loves you too."
"If he loved you, he would change your mind."
"He did -- the day I was forgiven. And now I know what's right, and I can't just throw that away," Bloch answered with a gentle smile.
"Then I hope you're ready for what comes next."
"Me too." Bloch murmured, as the thin man left.
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 October 2012. He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
May God Go With You
by Constance Berg
Mark 10:2-16
Things weren't going very well. Angelica's husband's paycheck wasn't due for another week. Last month's pharmacy bill was over $200. And the emergency room had wanted cash when she brought her son in. The asthma attack couldn't have come at a worse time.
Angelica eyed the clock. Four a.m. She looked at her husband, sleeping peacefully, wishing she could sleep so soundly. She quietly rolled over and tiptoed out the room.
The recliner was comfortable and the little afghan felt good on her legs. She looked out the window and sighed. A star was twinkling overhead and the moon cast a bright glow over the yard. The swing set seemed to be in a soft spotlight. Angelica couldn't resist and went outside.
The grass felt so soft beneath her feet. The cat purred softly on the porch. She opened her eyes just long enough to make sure Angelica wasn't a stranger.
Angelica sat on a swing. She loved her yard. They had taken great pains to put in shade in just the right places. Huge pots of geraniums marked the corners. Tall corn bordered the garden to the side. She could just taste the tomatoes and cucumbers they would enjoy in a month or so.
She took a deep breath. Ahh, the night seemed to have a perfume to it. Maybe it was the eucalyptus trees growing to the south. Or perhaps it was the gardenias. The tea olive was in bloom. It was her favorite scent of all as it blew through the house on a warm summer day.
Her children loved to play here. Their friends filled the yard on many holidays. Family members would spill over the lawns at every celebration. It was a lively, fun place.
Yet it was a quiet, magical place too. Angelica loved to read novels on the hammock on Sunday afternoons. And gardening was her quiet time, her time to think about things, to ask God to give her strength and to give her direction. It was a blessed spot. She bowed her head and asked for God's presence in the days ahead. She asked for guidance in making decisions. And she thanked God for the many blessings in her life. There were so many! How could she even begin to count them all? Children, a faithful husband, loyal friends, and a close family. She would make it because God would be with her.
She crept back into the kitchen noiselessly. As she turned to close the door, her eye caught a postcard. She had bought it at a restored Norwegian stave church while on vacation during better times. It read:
As you go on your way, May God go with you.
May He go before you to show you the way;
May He go behind you to encourage you;
Beside you to befriend you;
Above you to watch over you;
And within you to give you peace.
Angelica did feel peace -- a peace of knowing God was with her, a peace of knowing that, all in all, things would work out.
from Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series II, Cycle B (CSS Publishing Company, Inc.: Lima, Ohio, 1999), pp. 127-128.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 7, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
