Living The Word
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Living the Word" by Frank Ramirez
“Re Works of Supererogation” by Larry Winebrenner
“By the Waters of Babylon” by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * * *
Living the Word
Frank Ramirez
2 Timothy 1:1-14
I thank God, whom I serve from my forefathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day….
-- 2 Timothy 1:3 KJV
When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.
-- 2 Timothy 1:5 KJV
Four hundred years ago a group of six English scholars gathered together to read aloud their new translation of the Bible, verse by verse, as they prepared their final revisions of a work that had taken seven years of hard labor. At least one of them was only there because he'd been required by law to attend -- he was irked that like many of the translators he had not been paid. While his sovereign, King James, spent lavishly on massive outlays of luxuries, those who worked on the translation of the Bible that would bear his name did not receive the financial support they'd been promised.
These six were the cream of six companies of scholars from Westminster, Cambridge, and Oxford who had been assigned a different portion of the scriptures. One of them, John Bois (1562-1644), might not have been there at all if the prejudices of the day had held sway. When Bois' name was invited to join the work of what was called the "Second Cambridge Company," assigned to work on the Apocrypha, there were those who sniffed that "they needed no help from the country." Bois had no academic title, and though he was the greatest Greek scholar of his age he had chosen to work in the pastorate.
Few could doubt his qualifications, however. He could read the Hebrew scriptures by the time he was six. Already familiar with both Classical and New Testament Greek by the time he went to college at the age of fourteen, he mastered a year's work in his first week, and a month later had beyond the third year's level.
Bois was fastidious about his health, careful about what he ate, fasted often, took unusual care of his teeth for his age (and died with most of them in his head). He was even a bit of a hypochondriac. It is said that when he took it in his head to become a doctor and purchased books to teach himself the subject he eventually abandoned the project because "whatsoever disease he read of, he was troubled with the same himself."
At the age of 35 he got on a horse, visited a young girl who had been recommended to him, and the two shortly thereafter married. Together they shared seven children, only one of whom lived to adulthood. Bois never abandoned his studies. He would allow his horse to guide him back to college to deliver and hear lectures while he pored over an obscure volume in Greek.
Despite the prejudice against him by some on the King James translating committee Bois proved his worth, finishing his work early, contracting to do the work of another translator who failed to complete his assignments, and finally being selected to work on the final committee that prepared the work of the whole for publication. The group would meet around the table as a verse was read aloud, and then share their comments. They focused not only on accuracy of translation but the sound of the words for this Bible was meant to be read from pulpits all across England.
Bois was the only translator who took notes of these conversations. A few of the pages have survived, and they give us a little insight to the work. Some imagine that the King James Version came down immaculate from heaven, but the aim of the committee was to consider the work of previous translators and utilize the best of their work as well as their own.
Some of those notes pertain to 2 Timothy 1:3. William Tyndale, the translator martyred in 1536, had translated the verse as "I thanke god whom I serve from myn elders with pure conscience that with out ceasynge I make mencion of the in myh prayers nyght and day…." The eminently popular Geneva Bible, which would remain more popular than the King James version for decades, said, "I thanke God, whom I serve from mine elders with pure conscience, that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers day and night."
Bois wrote in his notes that one of the translators suggested that these words sounded harsh, and it might be better if softened to "I give God thanks whom I serve from mine Ancestors with a pure conscience," and that the words that follow, through verse 5, be included in parentheses. In point of fact the translators decided to stick pretty close to the Geneva reading: "I thanke God, whom I serue from my forefathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing I haue remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day…"
Some people consider the King James Version the best or only legitimate translation of the Bible into English. There are a few, one suspects, who do not seem to realize that it is a translation and fancy that the apostles and prophets spoke in Elizabethan English. But we see that the process of translation was painstaking and careful, and that it was possible for things to have been phrased other than they were, judging by this and other suggested changes that were rejected.
Some might say that more important than the words themselves is the question of whether we obey them. In this matter at least it is apparent that John Bois took the words of scripture seriously. He was indeed prone to pray without ceasing. It was remembered by one who knew him that he prayed daily with his children, and the experience was so precious to all that in an era of casual beatings the only punishment he ever meted as a parent was to withhold his prayer of blessing.
To find one reason for it, one need travel only a couple of verses down the page, to 2 Timothy 1:5, where Paul credits Timothy's faith to his grandmother and mother. It is noted that on the flyleaf of his mother's copy of the Book of Common Prayer Bois wrote "This was my mother's booke; my good mother's book. Hir name was first Mirable Poolye; and then afterward Mirable Bois; being so called by the name of her husband, my father, William Bois… She had read the Bible over twelve times, and the Book of Martyrs twice; besides other bookes, a few."
There are many who cannot give enough credit to their parents and spiritual mentors for their faith and others who would dearly have loved to have had such an influence.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
Re Works of Supererogation
Larry Winebrenner
Luke 17:5-10
Roger was really proud of himself. He had cleaned up the kitchen, carried out the trash, cleaned up the garage, mowed the lawn, and watered the flowerbeds.
"Mom! I'm finished," he called.
She looked over all the tasks he had completed.
"Excellent," she praised. "It's still an hour until supper. How about cleaning the attic."
"Ma-aaam," he drawled. "I was going to shoot some baskets before dark."
"Honey, Aunt Martha's coming. I don't want her to think I can't manage with Bill gone."
Bill was Roger's father, Martha's brother. He had died one year previously in an automobile accident. He had no insurance and Martha had suggested that Roger come live with her. That would "Free up Joyce," Roger's mother, to find another husband.
Joyce was both appreciative and appalled at the older woman's offer. Martha had never married. What did she know about raising children? And how dare she suggest that Joyce was...
Her thoughts were interrupted by Roger's response.
"What did you say?" she asked Roger.
Roger thought she was scolding him and repeated in a clipped tone, "I - said - I - will - tell - Aunt - Martha - where - to - get - off."
"And verify her belief I don't know how to raise a respectful son? Oh, Roger. Go on out and shoot your baskets." She turned away to hide her tears from her son.
Roger was shooting baskets when Aunt Martha drove up in her new bird's egg blue Mercedes but not enjoying it much. He felt that although he had done more than his mother asked, somehow he had let her down.
Aunt Martha stepped out of the vehicle and said, "My suitcase is in the trunk, boy." She walked toward him with the clear intention of giving him a hug. When she saw his sweat-wetted shirt she drew up short, placed hands on his shoulders, and pecked his cheek with the briefest kiss.
As Roger went for her suitcase, he noticed her giving the lawn the once-over.
"Don't slam that trunk lid," she called over to him.
Roger placed his hand on the trunk lid ready to smash it closed with mega-force. Then his mother's warning about verifying Aunt Martha's prejudice came to mind. Hateful old lady he thought as he carefully lowered the lid and pressed on it until he heard the click.
When he turned, he saw Aunt Martha in the garage, she was wiping a tissue, or maybe a dainty handkerchief, across the surface of the workbench for crying out loud. The workbench.
Aunt Martha preceded him into the house. She gave Joyce a cheek to cheek pretend hug.
You shouldn't spend good money on a yard man," she informed Joyce.
Joyce placed an arm around her son's damp shoulder. "I don't. Roger does it for me."
"And the garage?"
"Yes. And the kitchen floors. Would you like to visit the kitchen and inspect it, Martha?" To Roger she said, "Take Martha's bag to her room."
"I don't need your impertinence," snapped Martha. "He's the stuff of his father. Do it now and do it right."
Roger's heart was aglow as he reached the foot of the stairs. Then he shuddered. He heard his aunt speak.
"There's a red flower vase I used the last time I brought Bill flowers. I told him I wanted it back. He said he would put it in a safe place in the attic. I'd like to get it now so I don't forget it when I leave."
Before his mother could speak, Roger ran over and stood in front of his aunt.
"You don't want your old vase," he said calmly, evenly, hoping there was respect in his voice though not in his words. "You want to inspect the condition of the attic. Like you did the lawn. Like you did the garage, like you would've the kitchen if mother hadn't headed you off. Well let me tell you about the attic. It's a mess. It looks awful because I worked in the kitchen. I worked on the lawn. I worked on the garage. I did more than Mother required. More. Do you understand? More. And then went out and shot some baskets."
"Roger," replied his unflustered aunt. "You can never do more than required. Don't you know what Jesus said? When you have done everything you should say 'I'm a useless servant.' "
Roger had just studied this passage in church school the previous Sunday. He knew what she was talking about. He didn't think the passage fit this situation. At least that part. But he wasn't going to argue with his aunt over it. He took another tact.
"Is this the same Jesus who said if you had the faith of a mustard seed you could say to the mulberry tree, 'Jump!' and it would jump right into the Sea of Galilee?"
"Not exactly like that, but yes, it is the same Jesus."
"The one who said, 'Love your neighbor the same way you love yourself'?"
"Yes."
"Then, Aunt Martha, I say with deepest respect, you don't have a grain of faith. You have no faith that my mother can raise me. You have no faith that she can manage her own household without my dad," his voice choked when he mentioned his father, but he continued, "here to egg her on. You have no love for her because she married dad and took him away from you. Aunt Martha, you flunk the love and faith test."
He hadn't noticed, but his mother had moved beside him and was hugging him around the shoulder with all her might.
"Roger, are you quite through?" asked Aunt Martha, still unflustered.
"Yes Ma'am," he said.
She turned to Joyce. "Like I said, just like his father. If you will ask Roger to carry my bag back to the car for me, I'll be on my way. And I won't invite myself again. I'll wait for an invitation from you."
"Then you're not leaving," said Joyce. "I'm inviting you to stay right now. And after Roger finishes in the attic tomorrow, we'll inspect it together."
Aunt Martha gave her a real hug and said, "I suspect you're going to get tired of hearing me say, 'He's just like his father.' "
"Not me," said Roger. "Not me."
By the Waters of Babylon
Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 137
Beulah stroked Amos' cheek.
"Please," she begged, "don't make trouble. We're slaves. We do what they say. That's the end of it."
"That's not the end of it," insisted Amos. "We are God's creation. The Lord rescued us from slavery one time. We are meant to be free."
Beulah knew the story of Israel as well as any man. She had faithfully stood in the Court of Women and listened as the men read and discussed the sacred scrolls. It was her faithfulness there as a young woman that attracted Amos. He enquired concerning her family and her eligibility. Then he hired a matchmaker to arrange a wedding.
Although their marriage was a happy one, she knew she could not argue with Amos. He did not want to hear how the Children of Israel had been punished again and again for their faithlessness. How often in the days of the judges had Israel fallen into servitude under the Philistines. How heart-wrenching was the deportation of the ten tribes of the north by Assyria. And now, the two remaining tribes of the south, deported by the victorious Babylonians. No. Amos would not want to be reminded of that.
She stroked his face once more.
"Do not make it harder on the little one. It will be bad enough having the child born in Mesopotamia."
He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Yes, Delilah," he said.
"You may be a Samson, but I am no Philistine harlot," she shot back.
They embraced briefly.
"But they want me to sing songs of Israel at their pagan feast. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"
"Then don't sing the Lord's song. Make up a song," replied Beulah.
"I still don't like singing anything, but let me think on it."
He strummed his harp as he thought. Beulah watched him, half fearfully. Finally, he began to sing in his home dialect. Anger shook his voice as he sang.
"Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
The day of Jerusalem's fall!
How they said, 'Tear it down! 'Tear it down!
Down to its foundations!'
O daughter of Babylon, you devastator!
Happy shall they be who pay you back
What you have done to us!
Happy shall they be who take your little ones
And dash them against the rock!"
Beulah grasped her stomach with a sharp intake of breath.
"Oh Amos," she whimpered. "Not like that."
An overseer walked over to the pair.
"That was a right lusty song. What do the words say in our tongue? Sounds like a song we asked for at our feast."
Amos started.
"Nothing," he said. "It was an appeal to our God. Nothing of interest to you."
He flung his harp as hard as possible into a tree growing next to the canal from which they were cutting reeds and were clearing. It caught in a branch and hung over the water.
"Insolent dog!" said the overseer. "You can just leave your harp hanging there. Do not try to retrieve it. Get back to work. And don't you dare come near our feast tonight hoping for a handout."
"Yes, Master," said Amos.
"Indeed, Master," said Beulah, hiding the smile initiated by a dancing heart.
But she knew Amos would never forget his song. It would never be sung at pagan feasts. But small gatherings of worshipers from Judah were a different matter, a much different matter indeed.
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
**************
StoryShare, October 3, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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.
"Living the Word" by Frank Ramirez
“Re Works of Supererogation” by Larry Winebrenner
“By the Waters of Babylon” by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * * *
Living the Word
Frank Ramirez
2 Timothy 1:1-14
I thank God, whom I serve from my forefathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day….
-- 2 Timothy 1:3 KJV
When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.
-- 2 Timothy 1:5 KJV
Four hundred years ago a group of six English scholars gathered together to read aloud their new translation of the Bible, verse by verse, as they prepared their final revisions of a work that had taken seven years of hard labor. At least one of them was only there because he'd been required by law to attend -- he was irked that like many of the translators he had not been paid. While his sovereign, King James, spent lavishly on massive outlays of luxuries, those who worked on the translation of the Bible that would bear his name did not receive the financial support they'd been promised.
These six were the cream of six companies of scholars from Westminster, Cambridge, and Oxford who had been assigned a different portion of the scriptures. One of them, John Bois (1562-1644), might not have been there at all if the prejudices of the day had held sway. When Bois' name was invited to join the work of what was called the "Second Cambridge Company," assigned to work on the Apocrypha, there were those who sniffed that "they needed no help from the country." Bois had no academic title, and though he was the greatest Greek scholar of his age he had chosen to work in the pastorate.
Few could doubt his qualifications, however. He could read the Hebrew scriptures by the time he was six. Already familiar with both Classical and New Testament Greek by the time he went to college at the age of fourteen, he mastered a year's work in his first week, and a month later had beyond the third year's level.
Bois was fastidious about his health, careful about what he ate, fasted often, took unusual care of his teeth for his age (and died with most of them in his head). He was even a bit of a hypochondriac. It is said that when he took it in his head to become a doctor and purchased books to teach himself the subject he eventually abandoned the project because "whatsoever disease he read of, he was troubled with the same himself."
At the age of 35 he got on a horse, visited a young girl who had been recommended to him, and the two shortly thereafter married. Together they shared seven children, only one of whom lived to adulthood. Bois never abandoned his studies. He would allow his horse to guide him back to college to deliver and hear lectures while he pored over an obscure volume in Greek.
Despite the prejudice against him by some on the King James translating committee Bois proved his worth, finishing his work early, contracting to do the work of another translator who failed to complete his assignments, and finally being selected to work on the final committee that prepared the work of the whole for publication. The group would meet around the table as a verse was read aloud, and then share their comments. They focused not only on accuracy of translation but the sound of the words for this Bible was meant to be read from pulpits all across England.
Bois was the only translator who took notes of these conversations. A few of the pages have survived, and they give us a little insight to the work. Some imagine that the King James Version came down immaculate from heaven, but the aim of the committee was to consider the work of previous translators and utilize the best of their work as well as their own.
Some of those notes pertain to 2 Timothy 1:3. William Tyndale, the translator martyred in 1536, had translated the verse as "I thanke god whom I serve from myn elders with pure conscience that with out ceasynge I make mencion of the in myh prayers nyght and day…." The eminently popular Geneva Bible, which would remain more popular than the King James version for decades, said, "I thanke God, whom I serve from mine elders with pure conscience, that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers day and night."
Bois wrote in his notes that one of the translators suggested that these words sounded harsh, and it might be better if softened to "I give God thanks whom I serve from mine Ancestors with a pure conscience," and that the words that follow, through verse 5, be included in parentheses. In point of fact the translators decided to stick pretty close to the Geneva reading: "I thanke God, whom I serue from my forefathers with pure conscience, that without ceasing I haue remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day…"
Some people consider the King James Version the best or only legitimate translation of the Bible into English. There are a few, one suspects, who do not seem to realize that it is a translation and fancy that the apostles and prophets spoke in Elizabethan English. But we see that the process of translation was painstaking and careful, and that it was possible for things to have been phrased other than they were, judging by this and other suggested changes that were rejected.
Some might say that more important than the words themselves is the question of whether we obey them. In this matter at least it is apparent that John Bois took the words of scripture seriously. He was indeed prone to pray without ceasing. It was remembered by one who knew him that he prayed daily with his children, and the experience was so precious to all that in an era of casual beatings the only punishment he ever meted as a parent was to withhold his prayer of blessing.
To find one reason for it, one need travel only a couple of verses down the page, to 2 Timothy 1:5, where Paul credits Timothy's faith to his grandmother and mother. It is noted that on the flyleaf of his mother's copy of the Book of Common Prayer Bois wrote "This was my mother's booke; my good mother's book. Hir name was first Mirable Poolye; and then afterward Mirable Bois; being so called by the name of her husband, my father, William Bois… She had read the Bible over twelve times, and the Book of Martyrs twice; besides other bookes, a few."
There are many who cannot give enough credit to their parents and spiritual mentors for their faith and others who would dearly have loved to have had such an influence.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
Re Works of Supererogation
Larry Winebrenner
Luke 17:5-10
Roger was really proud of himself. He had cleaned up the kitchen, carried out the trash, cleaned up the garage, mowed the lawn, and watered the flowerbeds.
"Mom! I'm finished," he called.
She looked over all the tasks he had completed.
"Excellent," she praised. "It's still an hour until supper. How about cleaning the attic."
"Ma-aaam," he drawled. "I was going to shoot some baskets before dark."
"Honey, Aunt Martha's coming. I don't want her to think I can't manage with Bill gone."
Bill was Roger's father, Martha's brother. He had died one year previously in an automobile accident. He had no insurance and Martha had suggested that Roger come live with her. That would "Free up Joyce," Roger's mother, to find another husband.
Joyce was both appreciative and appalled at the older woman's offer. Martha had never married. What did she know about raising children? And how dare she suggest that Joyce was...
Her thoughts were interrupted by Roger's response.
"What did you say?" she asked Roger.
Roger thought she was scolding him and repeated in a clipped tone, "I - said - I - will - tell - Aunt - Martha - where - to - get - off."
"And verify her belief I don't know how to raise a respectful son? Oh, Roger. Go on out and shoot your baskets." She turned away to hide her tears from her son.
Roger was shooting baskets when Aunt Martha drove up in her new bird's egg blue Mercedes but not enjoying it much. He felt that although he had done more than his mother asked, somehow he had let her down.
Aunt Martha stepped out of the vehicle and said, "My suitcase is in the trunk, boy." She walked toward him with the clear intention of giving him a hug. When she saw his sweat-wetted shirt she drew up short, placed hands on his shoulders, and pecked his cheek with the briefest kiss.
As Roger went for her suitcase, he noticed her giving the lawn the once-over.
"Don't slam that trunk lid," she called over to him.
Roger placed his hand on the trunk lid ready to smash it closed with mega-force. Then his mother's warning about verifying Aunt Martha's prejudice came to mind. Hateful old lady he thought as he carefully lowered the lid and pressed on it until he heard the click.
When he turned, he saw Aunt Martha in the garage, she was wiping a tissue, or maybe a dainty handkerchief, across the surface of the workbench for crying out loud. The workbench.
Aunt Martha preceded him into the house. She gave Joyce a cheek to cheek pretend hug.
You shouldn't spend good money on a yard man," she informed Joyce.
Joyce placed an arm around her son's damp shoulder. "I don't. Roger does it for me."
"And the garage?"
"Yes. And the kitchen floors. Would you like to visit the kitchen and inspect it, Martha?" To Roger she said, "Take Martha's bag to her room."
"I don't need your impertinence," snapped Martha. "He's the stuff of his father. Do it now and do it right."
Roger's heart was aglow as he reached the foot of the stairs. Then he shuddered. He heard his aunt speak.
"There's a red flower vase I used the last time I brought Bill flowers. I told him I wanted it back. He said he would put it in a safe place in the attic. I'd like to get it now so I don't forget it when I leave."
Before his mother could speak, Roger ran over and stood in front of his aunt.
"You don't want your old vase," he said calmly, evenly, hoping there was respect in his voice though not in his words. "You want to inspect the condition of the attic. Like you did the lawn. Like you did the garage, like you would've the kitchen if mother hadn't headed you off. Well let me tell you about the attic. It's a mess. It looks awful because I worked in the kitchen. I worked on the lawn. I worked on the garage. I did more than Mother required. More. Do you understand? More. And then went out and shot some baskets."
"Roger," replied his unflustered aunt. "You can never do more than required. Don't you know what Jesus said? When you have done everything you should say 'I'm a useless servant.' "
Roger had just studied this passage in church school the previous Sunday. He knew what she was talking about. He didn't think the passage fit this situation. At least that part. But he wasn't going to argue with his aunt over it. He took another tact.
"Is this the same Jesus who said if you had the faith of a mustard seed you could say to the mulberry tree, 'Jump!' and it would jump right into the Sea of Galilee?"
"Not exactly like that, but yes, it is the same Jesus."
"The one who said, 'Love your neighbor the same way you love yourself'?"
"Yes."
"Then, Aunt Martha, I say with deepest respect, you don't have a grain of faith. You have no faith that my mother can raise me. You have no faith that she can manage her own household without my dad," his voice choked when he mentioned his father, but he continued, "here to egg her on. You have no love for her because she married dad and took him away from you. Aunt Martha, you flunk the love and faith test."
He hadn't noticed, but his mother had moved beside him and was hugging him around the shoulder with all her might.
"Roger, are you quite through?" asked Aunt Martha, still unflustered.
"Yes Ma'am," he said.
She turned to Joyce. "Like I said, just like his father. If you will ask Roger to carry my bag back to the car for me, I'll be on my way. And I won't invite myself again. I'll wait for an invitation from you."
"Then you're not leaving," said Joyce. "I'm inviting you to stay right now. And after Roger finishes in the attic tomorrow, we'll inspect it together."
Aunt Martha gave her a real hug and said, "I suspect you're going to get tired of hearing me say, 'He's just like his father.' "
"Not me," said Roger. "Not me."
By the Waters of Babylon
Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 137
Beulah stroked Amos' cheek.
"Please," she begged, "don't make trouble. We're slaves. We do what they say. That's the end of it."
"That's not the end of it," insisted Amos. "We are God's creation. The Lord rescued us from slavery one time. We are meant to be free."
Beulah knew the story of Israel as well as any man. She had faithfully stood in the Court of Women and listened as the men read and discussed the sacred scrolls. It was her faithfulness there as a young woman that attracted Amos. He enquired concerning her family and her eligibility. Then he hired a matchmaker to arrange a wedding.
Although their marriage was a happy one, she knew she could not argue with Amos. He did not want to hear how the Children of Israel had been punished again and again for their faithlessness. How often in the days of the judges had Israel fallen into servitude under the Philistines. How heart-wrenching was the deportation of the ten tribes of the north by Assyria. And now, the two remaining tribes of the south, deported by the victorious Babylonians. No. Amos would not want to be reminded of that.
She stroked his face once more.
"Do not make it harder on the little one. It will be bad enough having the child born in Mesopotamia."
He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Yes, Delilah," he said.
"You may be a Samson, but I am no Philistine harlot," she shot back.
They embraced briefly.
"But they want me to sing songs of Israel at their pagan feast. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"
"Then don't sing the Lord's song. Make up a song," replied Beulah.
"I still don't like singing anything, but let me think on it."
He strummed his harp as he thought. Beulah watched him, half fearfully. Finally, he began to sing in his home dialect. Anger shook his voice as he sang.
"Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
The day of Jerusalem's fall!
How they said, 'Tear it down! 'Tear it down!
Down to its foundations!'
O daughter of Babylon, you devastator!
Happy shall they be who pay you back
What you have done to us!
Happy shall they be who take your little ones
And dash them against the rock!"
Beulah grasped her stomach with a sharp intake of breath.
"Oh Amos," she whimpered. "Not like that."
An overseer walked over to the pair.
"That was a right lusty song. What do the words say in our tongue? Sounds like a song we asked for at our feast."
Amos started.
"Nothing," he said. "It was an appeal to our God. Nothing of interest to you."
He flung his harp as hard as possible into a tree growing next to the canal from which they were cutting reeds and were clearing. It caught in a branch and hung over the water.
"Insolent dog!" said the overseer. "You can just leave your harp hanging there. Do not try to retrieve it. Get back to work. And don't you dare come near our feast tonight hoping for a handout."
"Yes, Master," said Amos.
"Indeed, Master," said Beulah, hiding the smile initiated by a dancing heart.
But she knew Amos would never forget his song. It would never be sung at pagan feasts. But small gatherings of worshipers from Judah were a different matter, a much different matter indeed.
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
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StoryShare, October 3, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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.
