Of Lilacs And Pews
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "A Life for a Life"
Shining Moments: "Heritage" by C. David McKirachan
Good Stories: "An Idea Wearing Bib Overalls" by James E. Sargent
"Greater Love" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Of Lilacs and Pews" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Jesus tells us in this week's Gospel lesson that "no one has greater love than to lay down one's life for his friends" -- and A Story to Live By this week reminds us of one of the countless examples of someone who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect others. But we can also live out the commandment to love one another in many smaller but equally important ways in our daily lives, as our stories in Shining Moments and Good Stories illustrate. In the Scrap Pile, David McKirachan offers a wry take on an age-old problem we've all dealt with at some point: the mind-set of "We can't do that -- we've never done it that way before!"
A Story to Live By
A Life for a Life
"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends."
John 15:13
br> Who would lay down his or her life for a friend? Many of us have very dear friends: we play with them, we cry with them, and we share time with them. But who can honestly say that they would lay down a life for a friend?
On March 24, 1998, four little girls, aged 11 to 12, said good-bye to their parents that morning. One had just moved to Jonesboro, Arkansas, a city of 46,000. One played basketball and volleyball. Another was outgoing and planned to try out for the cheerleading squad. The last was a cheerful, chatty student.
The girls were students at Westside Middle School. Another day of school. Another day of the same routine for 250 students in the sixth and seventh grades.
But during the day the fire alarm sounded. Children are rarely frightened because an alarm is usually a drill. Often the drills are seen as welcome chances to get out of class and chat outside until the teachers give the thumbs-up that the students can go back inside. This was also a false alarm. There was no fire.
The children were hurrying outside, obediently filing out of the school to stand along the fence when two classmates, ages 11 and 13, opened fire on them. Fellow classmates. Friends.
Ten children were shot and received treatment. The four girls were shot and killed. An English teacher, Shannon Wright, who was only 32 years old, was shot and killed as she jumped in front of her students. She took two bullets. The girl she shielded was unharmed.
The shooters were dressed in camouflage and armed with several weapons. In one carefully orchestrated moment, five lives were snuffed out by two heavily armed classmates. Heavily armed friends.
But many more could have been killed. Mrs. Wright shielded at least one of her homeroom students. It is possible she saved more. She gave her life for those children. Selflessly, she gave her life so others could live.
(For information, click on http://www.cnn.com/US/9803/26/school.shooting.update/index.html)
Shining Moments
Heritage
by C. David McKirachan
"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love."
John 15:9
My father had been in intensive care since the end of September. Thanksgiving was coming up and there was a good chance he would be able to come home to my mother. The family had been there for them, especially my sister, a nurse practitioner. But the ups and downs of caring for a critically ill 89-year-old had worn us all to a nub.
When he came home, it was an event, poignant and tender. No big hoopla -- just a lot of gratitude and affection. He cried. Mom was the rock. She had a pot of vegetable soup on. She knew that he'd smell it as soon as he came near the house. Home.
I took a few days off and stayed with them, getting jobs done to prepare the house for winter on the Jersey shore. It was as much for me as it was for them. Each day was a reassurance that he was still here. Each pile moved and gutter cleaned was a reminder of his agenda being accomplished without pause.
One afternoon I sat with him in his study, winter sun streaming in across shoulders and brow that were more precious to me than I could count. I reached out a hand and touched him on his arm, needing to connect with him past the fear and loss that had rested on our doorstep and still roamed just out of sight.
He turned to me, put his had on mine, and smiled as slow tears ran down my cheeks. He looked out the window, out beyond the cedar moving there in the chill wind. "I haven't had many friends in my life." His statement startled me. I didn't know where he was going or what he was trying to say. It pulled me out of my painful focus as I tried to find something to say that would help and lift him. God, I'm stupid sometimes.
He patted my hand and looked at me. "Really, I haven't. I was so busy trying to do all the things that would build the church and do what I thought God wanted me to, I didn't take the time to make and keep friends."
I was like a fish out of water, sucking wind trying to come up with something to pastor my own father. "And all the time, here you were." It hit me like a blow. I stopped trying and sat stunned. "I've discovered something lately. I've got people here in my own home that I respect and love" -- he shook his head and smiled -- "and even like. I've got friends right here. I'm glad I figured that one out."
I never doubted that my father loved me. Even when I hated him from the tortured edges of adolescence, I knew he would do anything he could for me. But something changed there in the winter sunshine that day.
He was back in the hospital in about a week. He died just before Christmas. But on that afternoon, he gave me a gift that will never die. He called me "friend."
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Good Stories
An Idea Wearing Bib Overalls
by James E. Sargent
By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments. For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, for whatever is born of God conquers the world.
1 John 5:2-4a
He had stumbled over the words many times. He'd even practiced in front of a mirror. But when the time came to speak, he stuttered again. For months he had been dating the same girl. For the past few weeks he had been building up his courage because he wanted to tell her that he loved her. Those words didn't come easy for him. They especially didn't come easy because he didn't always get his words exactly as he wanted them to be. Maybe, he thought, it was because he had watched too many movies. He thought that because the stars of the cinema spoke eloquent words, he too would have to speak eloquently. But as often as he tried to form the words, he simply couldn't do it.
Maybe something else would work. If words weren't forthcoming, perhaps something else. That night he recalled she had mentioned that her car seemed to be running poorly. She had often said that she didn't know a thing about machines. So he picked up the car, took it to a service station, and had the mechanic look at it. She was right; it needed a tune-up. He didn't say much about it to her. But when he returned the car to her apartment she thanked him.
Later in that same week he remembered she had often mentioned that with all of her work and the demands of her schedule, she didn't have time to visit her mother as often as she wanted. His work was a little slow that week, so he decided that he could carve out an hour for a short visit. Again, when they next met he didn't say much. But she thanked him for what he had done.
After two weeks had passed his words still stuck in his throat. He still wanted to say that he loved her, but he couldn't.
On Monday evening of the third week, after all of his practiced sentences and stuttering attempts, after the automobile tune-up and the afternoon visit with her mother, they went out for dinner. She appeared to be uncomfortable, like something was on her mind, but she hadn't yet been able to muster the right words or find the courage to say them. Finally, the moment came.
She told him how much she appreciated all that he had done. She went on to say that she had been wanting to tell him something for quite a while now, but that she'd been afraid to.
"You know," she said, "that your care and concern have touched me deeply." She paused, and then continued. "This must be what it feels like to be loved. I have known other men who say they love me. But you are the only one who has acted like this." She paused again. After a deep breath she continued, "If I had the courage I would say that I love you, but your actions have spoken so much more eloquently than anything I could say. Thank you for your love."
James E. Sargent is a writer, consultant, teacher, and United Methodist pastor. He is the author of several Bible commentaries as well as the Lent devotional From the Edge of the Crowd (Upper Room). Sargent is a graduate of Defiance College and United Theological Seminary.
Greater Love
by John Sumwalt
"This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends."
John 15:12-13
There was once a little girl who didn't have any friends. Her name was Hattie. But Hattie wasn't really a "little" girl. You see, she was the tallest girl in her class. She was three inches taller than the next tallest girl, and she was five inches taller than all of the boys. And what was worse, Hattie was new at school and everyone made fun of her. They called her "giraffe legs," and they laughed whenever she bumped her head on the swing set. Hattie didn't know what to do, so she would just run behind the school building and cry.
One day, Sean noticed one of the other kids making fun of Hattie, and he remembered that he had been treated the same way when he first moved to town. You see, Sean was short for his age, and the kids used to call him "Sean, Sean, the leprechaun." Sean remembered how bad that had made him feel, and he decided right then and there that he was going to be Hattie's friend.
So that afternoon, after school, Sean sneaked away from the other boys and walked with Hattie all the way to his house. Hattie was a little suspicious at first that it might be some kind of trick, but when Sean told her that he knew just how she felt, she thought it was all right. Then, when Sean invited her in to meet his sisters Betty and Lois, she was delighted.
The next day at school things were entirely different. When the other kids saw Hattie playing with Sean and his sisters, they didn't tease her anymore. In fact, they wanted to play too, and pretty soon Hattie had more friends than she could count on her fingers. As for Sean, he went back to playing with the boys, but he was happy that he had helped someone who needed a friend.
(From Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B by John Sumwalt)
Scrap Pile
Of Lilacs and Pews
by C. David McKirachan
O sing to the Lord a new song, for He has done marvelous things.
Psalm 98
I live in New Jersey, down near the coast. I know my state is well known as a garbage dump and a mob suburb. But even if you're Tony Soprano, it's hard not to be knocked back by the azaleas and the dogwoods that are making improbable statements of color right now. If this is a landfill, bring it on.
Anyway, I walked into a meeting the other night reeling from the one-two punch of the sights and smells of the season, and found myself in a tangle of debate over redoing our sanctuary. Our worship space is antique and we're busting at the seams; choirs and attendance are making us look at our worship differently. There's no place to park wheelchairs, and even with a shoehorn it's hard to get bell tables up front and still inhale without banging against something or somebody. I think people were smaller when this place was built and they didn't move around much. It's the only way this kind of design would work.
So the worship committee is recommending removing the front pew and a few side ones. Time to meet with the building and ground guys -- thus this specific meeting. And thus the rather surreal discussion that I encountered.
"We can't remove a pew, then there would only be twelve from back to front."
Silence from the worship committee, wrinkled foreheads, squinted eyes, "Uhhh... well, nobody sits in the first pew and one pew won't make that much difference."
"No, that's not what we mean. We need thirteen pews because there have always been thirteen pews and if we have twelve it will be wrong."
More wrinkled foreheads, squinted eyes, now shaking heads. How do you fight with that kind of logic? "We've never done it that way before." The seven last words of a dying church are hard to fight with. They are a justification for fossilization. It's less messy and more organized than growth, let alone fruit, let alone amazement and awe, let alone resurrection, that's for sure. But extinction is very unattractive. And I don't think it fits with this guy named Jesus. (Not to be a name-dropper or anything...)
We're going to remove the pews. I hope the thirteen-pew camp will come around. But more importantly I hope we can all get rocked and amazed and sing a new song, 'cause God has done marvelous things. Have you seen the lilacs?
**********************************************
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 e-mail the story to us.
**********************************************
StoryShare, May 21, 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.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "A Life for a Life"
Shining Moments: "Heritage" by C. David McKirachan
Good Stories: "An Idea Wearing Bib Overalls" by James E. Sargent
"Greater Love" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Of Lilacs and Pews" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Jesus tells us in this week's Gospel lesson that "no one has greater love than to lay down one's life for his friends" -- and A Story to Live By this week reminds us of one of the countless examples of someone who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect others. But we can also live out the commandment to love one another in many smaller but equally important ways in our daily lives, as our stories in Shining Moments and Good Stories illustrate. In the Scrap Pile, David McKirachan offers a wry take on an age-old problem we've all dealt with at some point: the mind-set of "We can't do that -- we've never done it that way before!"
A Story to Live By
A Life for a Life
"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends."
John 15:13
br> Who would lay down his or her life for a friend? Many of us have very dear friends: we play with them, we cry with them, and we share time with them. But who can honestly say that they would lay down a life for a friend?
On March 24, 1998, four little girls, aged 11 to 12, said good-bye to their parents that morning. One had just moved to Jonesboro, Arkansas, a city of 46,000. One played basketball and volleyball. Another was outgoing and planned to try out for the cheerleading squad. The last was a cheerful, chatty student.
The girls were students at Westside Middle School. Another day of school. Another day of the same routine for 250 students in the sixth and seventh grades.
But during the day the fire alarm sounded. Children are rarely frightened because an alarm is usually a drill. Often the drills are seen as welcome chances to get out of class and chat outside until the teachers give the thumbs-up that the students can go back inside. This was also a false alarm. There was no fire.
The children were hurrying outside, obediently filing out of the school to stand along the fence when two classmates, ages 11 and 13, opened fire on them. Fellow classmates. Friends.
Ten children were shot and received treatment. The four girls were shot and killed. An English teacher, Shannon Wright, who was only 32 years old, was shot and killed as she jumped in front of her students. She took two bullets. The girl she shielded was unharmed.
The shooters were dressed in camouflage and armed with several weapons. In one carefully orchestrated moment, five lives were snuffed out by two heavily armed classmates. Heavily armed friends.
But many more could have been killed. Mrs. Wright shielded at least one of her homeroom students. It is possible she saved more. She gave her life for those children. Selflessly, she gave her life so others could live.
(For information, click on http://www.cnn.com/US/9803/26/school.shooting.update/index.html)
Shining Moments
Heritage
by C. David McKirachan
"As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love."
John 15:9
My father had been in intensive care since the end of September. Thanksgiving was coming up and there was a good chance he would be able to come home to my mother. The family had been there for them, especially my sister, a nurse practitioner. But the ups and downs of caring for a critically ill 89-year-old had worn us all to a nub.
When he came home, it was an event, poignant and tender. No big hoopla -- just a lot of gratitude and affection. He cried. Mom was the rock. She had a pot of vegetable soup on. She knew that he'd smell it as soon as he came near the house. Home.
I took a few days off and stayed with them, getting jobs done to prepare the house for winter on the Jersey shore. It was as much for me as it was for them. Each day was a reassurance that he was still here. Each pile moved and gutter cleaned was a reminder of his agenda being accomplished without pause.
One afternoon I sat with him in his study, winter sun streaming in across shoulders and brow that were more precious to me than I could count. I reached out a hand and touched him on his arm, needing to connect with him past the fear and loss that had rested on our doorstep and still roamed just out of sight.
He turned to me, put his had on mine, and smiled as slow tears ran down my cheeks. He looked out the window, out beyond the cedar moving there in the chill wind. "I haven't had many friends in my life." His statement startled me. I didn't know where he was going or what he was trying to say. It pulled me out of my painful focus as I tried to find something to say that would help and lift him. God, I'm stupid sometimes.
He patted my hand and looked at me. "Really, I haven't. I was so busy trying to do all the things that would build the church and do what I thought God wanted me to, I didn't take the time to make and keep friends."
I was like a fish out of water, sucking wind trying to come up with something to pastor my own father. "And all the time, here you were." It hit me like a blow. I stopped trying and sat stunned. "I've discovered something lately. I've got people here in my own home that I respect and love" -- he shook his head and smiled -- "and even like. I've got friends right here. I'm glad I figured that one out."
I never doubted that my father loved me. Even when I hated him from the tortured edges of adolescence, I knew he would do anything he could for me. But something changed there in the winter sunshine that day.
He was back in the hospital in about a week. He died just before Christmas. But on that afternoon, he gave me a gift that will never die. He called me "friend."
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Good Stories
An Idea Wearing Bib Overalls
by James E. Sargent
By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments. For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, for whatever is born of God conquers the world.
1 John 5:2-4a
He had stumbled over the words many times. He'd even practiced in front of a mirror. But when the time came to speak, he stuttered again. For months he had been dating the same girl. For the past few weeks he had been building up his courage because he wanted to tell her that he loved her. Those words didn't come easy for him. They especially didn't come easy because he didn't always get his words exactly as he wanted them to be. Maybe, he thought, it was because he had watched too many movies. He thought that because the stars of the cinema spoke eloquent words, he too would have to speak eloquently. But as often as he tried to form the words, he simply couldn't do it.
Maybe something else would work. If words weren't forthcoming, perhaps something else. That night he recalled she had mentioned that her car seemed to be running poorly. She had often said that she didn't know a thing about machines. So he picked up the car, took it to a service station, and had the mechanic look at it. She was right; it needed a tune-up. He didn't say much about it to her. But when he returned the car to her apartment she thanked him.
Later in that same week he remembered she had often mentioned that with all of her work and the demands of her schedule, she didn't have time to visit her mother as often as she wanted. His work was a little slow that week, so he decided that he could carve out an hour for a short visit. Again, when they next met he didn't say much. But she thanked him for what he had done.
After two weeks had passed his words still stuck in his throat. He still wanted to say that he loved her, but he couldn't.
On Monday evening of the third week, after all of his practiced sentences and stuttering attempts, after the automobile tune-up and the afternoon visit with her mother, they went out for dinner. She appeared to be uncomfortable, like something was on her mind, but she hadn't yet been able to muster the right words or find the courage to say them. Finally, the moment came.
She told him how much she appreciated all that he had done. She went on to say that she had been wanting to tell him something for quite a while now, but that she'd been afraid to.
"You know," she said, "that your care and concern have touched me deeply." She paused, and then continued. "This must be what it feels like to be loved. I have known other men who say they love me. But you are the only one who has acted like this." She paused again. After a deep breath she continued, "If I had the courage I would say that I love you, but your actions have spoken so much more eloquently than anything I could say. Thank you for your love."
James E. Sargent is a writer, consultant, teacher, and United Methodist pastor. He is the author of several Bible commentaries as well as the Lent devotional From the Edge of the Crowd (Upper Room). Sargent is a graduate of Defiance College and United Theological Seminary.
Greater Love
by John Sumwalt
"This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends."
John 15:12-13
There was once a little girl who didn't have any friends. Her name was Hattie. But Hattie wasn't really a "little" girl. You see, she was the tallest girl in her class. She was three inches taller than the next tallest girl, and she was five inches taller than all of the boys. And what was worse, Hattie was new at school and everyone made fun of her. They called her "giraffe legs," and they laughed whenever she bumped her head on the swing set. Hattie didn't know what to do, so she would just run behind the school building and cry.
One day, Sean noticed one of the other kids making fun of Hattie, and he remembered that he had been treated the same way when he first moved to town. You see, Sean was short for his age, and the kids used to call him "Sean, Sean, the leprechaun." Sean remembered how bad that had made him feel, and he decided right then and there that he was going to be Hattie's friend.
So that afternoon, after school, Sean sneaked away from the other boys and walked with Hattie all the way to his house. Hattie was a little suspicious at first that it might be some kind of trick, but when Sean told her that he knew just how she felt, she thought it was all right. Then, when Sean invited her in to meet his sisters Betty and Lois, she was delighted.
The next day at school things were entirely different. When the other kids saw Hattie playing with Sean and his sisters, they didn't tease her anymore. In fact, they wanted to play too, and pretty soon Hattie had more friends than she could count on her fingers. As for Sean, he went back to playing with the boys, but he was happy that he had helped someone who needed a friend.
(From Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B by John Sumwalt)
Scrap Pile
Of Lilacs and Pews
by C. David McKirachan
O sing to the Lord a new song, for He has done marvelous things.
Psalm 98
I live in New Jersey, down near the coast. I know my state is well known as a garbage dump and a mob suburb. But even if you're Tony Soprano, it's hard not to be knocked back by the azaleas and the dogwoods that are making improbable statements of color right now. If this is a landfill, bring it on.
Anyway, I walked into a meeting the other night reeling from the one-two punch of the sights and smells of the season, and found myself in a tangle of debate over redoing our sanctuary. Our worship space is antique and we're busting at the seams; choirs and attendance are making us look at our worship differently. There's no place to park wheelchairs, and even with a shoehorn it's hard to get bell tables up front and still inhale without banging against something or somebody. I think people were smaller when this place was built and they didn't move around much. It's the only way this kind of design would work.
So the worship committee is recommending removing the front pew and a few side ones. Time to meet with the building and ground guys -- thus this specific meeting. And thus the rather surreal discussion that I encountered.
"We can't remove a pew, then there would only be twelve from back to front."
Silence from the worship committee, wrinkled foreheads, squinted eyes, "Uhhh... well, nobody sits in the first pew and one pew won't make that much difference."
"No, that's not what we mean. We need thirteen pews because there have always been thirteen pews and if we have twelve it will be wrong."
More wrinkled foreheads, squinted eyes, now shaking heads. How do you fight with that kind of logic? "We've never done it that way before." The seven last words of a dying church are hard to fight with. They are a justification for fossilization. It's less messy and more organized than growth, let alone fruit, let alone amazement and awe, let alone resurrection, that's for sure. But extinction is very unattractive. And I don't think it fits with this guy named Jesus. (Not to be a name-dropper or anything...)
We're going to remove the pews. I hope the thirteen-pew camp will come around. But more importantly I hope we can all get rocked and amazed and sing a new song, 'cause God has done marvelous things. Have you seen the lilacs?
**********************************************
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 e-mail the story to us.
**********************************************
StoryShare, May 21, 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.
