Looking For The Best
Stories
Object:
What's Up This Week
The compelling difference that we can make in the lives of others, and the power of nature to teach us lessons and inspire us, are the twin themes of this edition of StoryShare. In our featured story, Fanny Seville gives us a touching portrait of a kind widower who always looked for the best in people -- and through his deeds was a shining beacon of God's light in the world. Fanny also shares brief sketches of four people who embody the Gospel's call for sacrificial giving to those in need. Then David McKirachan tells of a canoe trip which taught some brash youth the difficult lesson of respecting nature's power instead of their own foolish pride. McKirachan also muses on nature's ability to inspire, especially for children who are able climb trees and wander in woods. Finally, John Sumwalt relates his sighting of a pheasant and notes how it evokes the Psalmist's words about God summoning the earth.
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Looking for the Best
Fanny Lee Seville
Luke 12.35-40
At the end of town, in a little white brick house, lived a friendly, kind widower. This particular evening he sat quietly contemplating his life. He was baptized Marvin Martin III, but most folk called him M&M. He had lived all of his life in this house. It was here that he was born. It was here that many happy remembrances occurred. And it was here that he experienced the magnificent birth of his baby sister. The angelic expression on his mother's face when she held her daughter for the first time remained vividly in his memory. Often he recalled with joy the good times he shared with his family until that fateful day when they were taken from him in an automobile accident. His mother's sister graciously quit her job and came to live with him. She was a warm, loving woman, and treated him like her own son.
Tonight, as M&M opened the Bible for his evening devotions, he smiled and thought his life was very good. After his prayers he wrote in his black book. Then he went to bed. During the night, he fell into a very deep sleep from which he never awoke.
Marvin's pastor began his memorial service with these words: "Today, we gather to remember the life of Marvin Martin III, affectionately called M&M. He was the kindliest man I have ever known. His was a life lived for others. Permit me, please, to share with you the last seven entries in M&M's diary." Taking Marvin's black book in hand, his pastor read:
Sunday: Looking for the best in others.
Today, Pastor read from the Gospel of Luke, 12.35-40, about being ready for Jesus' return. I believe I am ready. Before church this morning, I spoke with Jan about my visiting with her kindergarten class tomorrow. She's expecting me. After worship I served coffee at coffee hour. It gave me great pleasure to ask the people "Decaf or regular?" I loved seeing the appreciative expressions on the faces of those enjoying my freshly baked cupcakes and homemade peanut butter fudge. I especially enjoyed watching Pastor hold a six-year-old child with cerebral palsy. Her head nestled under his chin as he lovingly held her in his arms. The scene reminded me of Jesus' telling his disciples to let the children come to him. Thank you, God, for pastors who care for everyone.
Monday: Looking for the best in others.
Today is my 81st birthday. To celebrate I baked sugar cookies, decorated each one with a happy face, and took them to Jan's kindergarten class. Tears filled my eyes as the children sang "Happy Birthday" to me. After reading several stories to them, I said good-bye and gave each child a hug. Jan loves teaching. Her eyes sparkled with tender, loving kindness. I think it's commendable that she uses her own money to buy supplies for her classroom. Every day after school, she volunteers to tutor students with learning difficulties. She is a very dedicated teacher. I wish all teachers possessed her commitment. Thank you, God, for teachers who care.
Tuesday: Looking for the best in others.
At noon today, I served lunch at the soup kitchen. It seems each week there are more and more people without a home. I pray for their safety. Tonight on the evening news, I heard the most amazing story. An NBA basketball player created a line of athletic shoes costing only $15 a pair, so that poor children could have the pleasure of wearing new shoes. I applaud his compassion and concern for these children whose parents don't have $100 or more to pay for trendy basketball shoes. Thank you, God, for people who care.
Wednesday: Looking for the best in others.
This week I am scheduled to make Called-to-Care visits. Today I visited John. Yesterday he was hit by a car. John had the courage to save a little boy who had wandered into the street. Fortunately he wasn't hurt, but John suffered a broken leg. I think my peanut butter fudge helped to cheer him. Thank you, God, for courageous people.
Thursday: Looking for the best in others.
I missed rehearsal with the Senior Singers today. Next Thursday we sing at the nursing home. I'm so grateful that I can live independently. Thank you, God, for my good health. Instead of singing, I traveled with Joe to a home where floodwaters had filled the basement of a widow's home. I stand in awe of Joe. His commitment to others is one to be emulated. No matter where the need, be it in Florida or Mississippi or Louisiana or Pennsylvania or North Dakota, there is Joe, leading a disaster response team. Thank you, God, for people who care.
Friday: Looking for the best in others.
In the mail today was a letter from Chip, thanking me for the 100 blankets I mailed to him in Iraq. He said all his buddies appreciated receiving a new, clean, warm blanket. I'm so proud of my grandson for serving our country, but I'm frightened for his safety and for the lives of others serving in the military. I hate war. It seems that every decade of my life the United States has been in some kind of military conflict. I pray for world peace. Thank you, God, for those who protect us.
Saturday: Looking for the best in others.
I'm rather tired tonight. Most of the day I worked with members of the church, helping to build a Habitat for Humanity home. My church friends are always ready to lend a hand whenever there is a need. Our church is blessed to have many committed members. Thank you, God, for the Church.
"And so it was with Marvin Martin III, always looking for the best in others when in reality it was we who saw his good works." M&M's pastor wiped tears from his eyes as he continued, "When his blessed Savior came, Marvin was ready. One can imagine Jesus saying, 'Well done, good and faithful servant.' "
Thanks be to God for folk like Marvin who are always ready to help others cheerfully and willingly, no matter who they are, no matter what their need may be.
The Rest of the Story
Fanny Lee Seville
Luke 12.32-34
In this week's Gospel lesson, Jesus reminds the disciples that sacrificial giving to others in need is a treasure, a treasure that can never be taken away, a treasure that no thief can steal, a treasure that no moth can destroy. Today let us consider, in the manner of Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story," the lives of four ordinary people who, because of their love for mankind, became extraordinary leaders of the world. They found their treasure in serving the poorest of the poor, the outcast, those who have no place to lay their heads, those who have no voice to be heard, those who live in profound despair. Listen to their stories.
***
She was born in 1207 in Hungary, the daughter of King Andrew II and his wife Gertrude. When she was four years old, she was promised in marriage and was taken to Thuringia, Germany, to live among her future husband's family. She grew up a very religious child, a princess who exhibited extreme compassion for the poor. At age six, her mother Gertrude was murdered. At age nine her fiancÈ died, and she was subsequently betrothed to his brother Ludwig. At age 14, she and Ludwig married. Theirs was a happy marriage; each was devoted to the other.
By age 20 she had given birth to three children and had suffered the deaths of both her husband and her father. It was then that she dedicated her life to caring for the poor and outcast and those with the most horribly debilitating diseases. To care for the sick, she built a hospital, daily ministering to the needs of the patients. Later she helped to found a Franciscan monastery.
She died at the age of 24. Those who visited her grave told stories about miracles of healing. Four years after her death, she was declared a saint of the Western Church. Today, 800 years later, German citizens recognize Elizabeth of Thuringia as the "greatest woman of the German Middle Ages" ...and now you know the rest of the story.
***
She was born on August 26, 1910, in Macedonia, the youngest of three children. When she was five years old, she received her first communion. At age eight, her father died suddenly. At age 12, she felt God's call to missionary work.
At age 18, her desire to become a missionary became a reality. She left her home and joined an Irish community, the Sisters of Loreto, who were known for their missionary work in India. At age 19 she left Ireland and headed for India, where she taught girls geography and the catechism. She deeply cared for and dearly loved the children. At age 34, she became the school's principal. Two years later she contracted tuberculosis and was sent away for rest and recuperation. It was on the train ride to her resting place that she heard Jesus' call to "come be my light." At age 38, she dedicated herself to working with the poor of the world.
She had a deep, abiding love for the outcast and unwanted poor. At age 40, she started the first shelter for thousands of homeless people in Calcutta. Her success spread everywhere. She later opened houses for the poor on every continent. At age 69, she became the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. She accepted this most prestigious award "for the glory of God and in the name of the poor."
She died at the age of 87, having spent nearly 60 years serving the sick and dying of Calcutta. People from all walks of life travel to her tomb to pray and to give thanks for her life. Five years after her death, Mother Teresa was declared a saint of the Roman Catholic Church ...and now you know the rest of the story.
***
He was born in 1869 in India and married by the age of 13. When he was 19, he studied law abroad at the University College in London. Because he was Indian, his classmates ignored him. While at the university, he became interested in Henry David Thoreau's teachings and concentrated on his theory of "civil disobedience."
At age 22 he returned to India, but he was unsuccessful as a lawyer. Being discouraged he headed for South Africa, where at the age of 23 he became the first person of color on the Supreme Court. Concerned for the treatment of Indians as inferior people in South Africa, at age 24 he founded the Natal Indian Congress to fight for Indian rights. Following the teachings of Thoreau, he began a peaceful revolution at age 37 against an anti-Asian law. Thousands of Indians joined him, and he was jailed. At age 45, he returned to his homeland in India after the South African government agreed to his demands.
In India he continued to advocate for civil liberties and political rights for his Indian brothers and sisters. Focusing his attention on a campaign for home rule, he urged his people to spin their own cotton and to boycott anything British, including its government policies. Immediately he was imprisoned for two years. Later he urged a protest against England's salt tax, leading thousands of people on a 200-mile-journey to the sea where he taught them to make their own salt by evaporating sea water. Again he was arrested and placed in prison.
At age 71, he demanded India's independence from England as a reward for the people's service during World War II. He was imprisoned again for two more years. Six years later India won her independence.
At the age of 79, he was assassinated. Mahatma Gandhi became the world's symbol of nonviolent civil disobedience, believing that "one must be the change one wishes to see in the world" ...and now you know the rest of the story.
***
He was born on January 15, 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. When he was 15, he graduated from high school. At age 19 he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree, and at age 22 he earned a Bachelor of Divinity degree. At age 26 he earned a doctorate and began his ministry. Like Gandhi, he followed the nonviolent resistance teachings of Henry David Thoreau. At age 27, he organized civil rights demonstrations for all people. He was arrested and his home was bombed.
During the next 12 years he was arrested over 15 times, wrote five books, traveled over six million miles, spoke over 25,000 times, and was awarded five honorary degrees. At age 35 he was the youngest man to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.
At the early age of 39 he was assassinated by a sniper. The United States Congress established a national holiday in his memory. Every January 15, people across our great nation celebrate his birthday and the remarkable leadership of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. ...and now you know the rest of the story.
***
Today we may wonder, "Where are the Elizabeths, the Mother Teresas, the Gandhis, the Kings?" The world doesn't know them, but God does, and we do too. Look around you -- they may be sitting beside you or in front of you or behind you. They are everywhere. They are the ones who know that their treasure is found in serving others. They are those who stand up for the oppressed, those who give to the poor, those who nurse the sick, those who feed the hungry, those who give shelter to the homeless, those who visit the prisoner.
They are the ones who agree with Dr. King, "The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: 'If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?' But the good Samaritan reversed the question: 'If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?' " May we also follow the examples of Elizabeth of Thuringia, of Mother Teresa, of Mahatma Gandhi, of Martin Luther King Jr. Like them, may we serve gladly with love and with joy, knowing that "where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" ...and now you know the rest of the story!
Fanny Lee Seville is a retired educator who devoted her entire career to teaching children with disabilities and "at risk" high school students. She is a lifelong member of the United Church of Christ, and has served in many capacities at the local, conference, and national levels. Fanny is married to Jack Seville, Conference Minister Emeritus of the UCC's Northern Plains Conference. She is the author of Sing Stories of Jesus, a children's music book of 25 biblical stories in song.
Is Anybody Listening?
C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
I volunteered as a guide for canoe trips down the Delaware River. That statement in itself is a story. It's enough to say that I was pastor of an inner-city parish at the time. I needed this like a sail needs wind. Johnsonburg Camp, in the wilderness of New Jersey (stop laughing), is a place of climax forests and holy connections. It drew me. I ended up on the board of trustees, but that's another story as well.
The canoe trips started at the camp with training and group building, then we went by truck north into New York state to put in. Twelve senior highs and two counselors, 95 miles in five days -- everything we used, including food, tents, sleeping bags, and frisbees, went into seven canoes. Canoeing is not what we were there to do. We were building and opening and expanding people -- senior highs and decrepit old dudes as well. But with its demands and its joys and its thrills, the trip was a fitting context for growth. You learn a lot fast while negotiating whitewater or cooking meals when you'd rather lay down in the dirt and sleep.
There were always one or two who saw themselves as better than anybody else and set out to prove it. They were used to being large and in charge, or smart and capable, or all of the above. But a good amount of negotiating a river is counterintuitive. It's not something you can bull your way through, no matter how that has worked in other contexts. Experience is a great teacher. Listening to those who have an intimate knowledge of the river also works. Sometimes people prefer pain and humiliation to humility.
Two such lessons have to do with paddling faster than the current to allow steerage, and moving the back end of the canoe to let the current lever you off of rocks you may encounter. Both acknowledge that your strength is not as great as the river's. Both demonstrate that the water can be an ally, if you let it. And both demonstrate that what has always worked for you in other contexts may get you in trouble. "We always did it that way before" are very dangerous words.
Two characters inhabited what we called the Nascar canoe, running ahead and proving that they were cool and powerful at every opportunity. They had inside jokes that they threw at the "pokes" and the "slugs." They were not allowed to get out of sight of the rest of us, but they flirted with this distance. Halfway through the morning they got to a nice set of rapids. They decided to demonstrate that the caution we exercised wasn't necessary if you were as cool as they were. In the middle of the whitewater was a good-sized rock dividing the flow. They decided in their testosterone-polluted minds to get there, climb out, and give commentary on our sad lack of skill as we went by.
By the time I realized what they were doing, they were backpaddling and slowing down -- and then they landed broadside against the rock. Nascar started filling with water. Rather than pushing the rear end around, they tried pushing off of the rock against the current. I went to the shore and jumped into the water above them. I could hear the aluminum screaming as it bent and the rivets popping like demonic corn. They climbed up on the rock and watched as the river wrapped the canoe around the obstruction like a shawl. Their equipment and packs and food took off downriver.
There was no need to chastise them. They'd been humiliated quickly and effectively. Whatever edge they thought they had on the group was gone and now they were in need. How far they had fallen.
We found most of their stuff along the way. But that night they slept on a tarp, while their sleeping bags hung in a tree drying. We had another canoe by the end of the next day. They'd been passengers for a while. Their racing days were over. By the end of the trip they began to laugh at themselves, a sure sign of health.
If only they'd listened. But maybe they needed the lesson. It's a terrible way to learn, but you know how pride is. It takes us places we never should have gone, invites us to do things others warn us about, and helps us to conveniently forget all the good advice wiser folk have offered. It reassures us that if we go through the motions of being nice people, we'll be fine. It leads nations to war. It invites us to forget about the poor, to forget about the ones who live at the margins, in the shadows. Isaiah knew. He understood the power of the river... and he understood the cost of forgetting.
Up a Tree
C. David McKirachan
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
I grew up in a 23-room granite mansion that fronted the Susquehanna River. My father was minister of a BIG church -- he was brilliant, insightful, and ran with the big guys. My mother was one of the most grounded, intelligent people I ever knew. Quite a combo. But I was lonely. I spent a lot of time down by the river wandering by myself, poking, discovering, pretending.
It was an old neighborhood, with immense maple and elm and oak trees spreading branches into the spaces that separated them. The squirrels never needed to come down. Once I learned how to get up the thick trunks, I'd spend hours up with the birds and the wind. I'd take maple seeds (the helicopter kind) and split them, letting their sap glue them to my ears. It made me invisible -- I was a wood elf. I was above all the comings and goings on the ground, at home and free and immune.
You see, I believed in magic. I believed that somewhere, just as close as the branches of the sugar maple in the front yard, pulsed and breathed a world of music and powerful secrets. It was a world of monstrous truth, of glory and tragedy. My Druid ancestors would have understood.
Most of the time we grow out of such silly childhood games. Most of the time we become functional and practical and goal-oriented. Most of the time the world loses its brightness and glory. Most of the time...
Probably because of my parents and teachers and the power of literature and the flow of the Spirit, that child continued to believe. He became practical enough to get degrees and jobs. He even got married and had kids. But in spite of all the world's demands, the magic wouldn't go away. It whispered just below the honk and screech of angry judgment and sadness. It scintillated just beyond the hard-edged, colorless machinery. It sang in spite of standardized, empty facts.
We don't like the word "magic." We don't allow earth power and sky spirit in the same dimension. The bonds that tie us to each other and to our blue home are present in every breath. Yet we put them in files labeled "psychodynamics." No wonder there are few heroes of faith -- in the DSM diagnostic catalogue they are labeled "Religiously Preoccupied."
But I believed in the child's vision. I believed that the world of wonder was real. And somehow here in this late day, I've wandered into a dappled grove of ancient peace that whispers and sings with the music of the elves. You need not affirm my silly attitudes. The failures and lost potential in my wake are proof of my lack of dependability. But one luxury of exocentrism is a delightful tolerance of all of those who do not share the worldview that allows the exocentric to stand so solidly. I believe in the power of Love. And I have faith in its author to weave a tapestry that has little to do with credit ratings. My hope is assured.
Pretty good for a kid up a tree...
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Summoning the Earth
John E. Sumwalt
The mighty one, God the Lord, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty shines forth. Our God does not keep silence.
-- Psalm 50:1-3a
He first appeared late on Sunday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend, just before dusk, this striking stranger who seemed perfectly at home in the farmhouse yard, though not one of us human inhabitants had ever seen him there before. He acted like he owned the place, like a medieval lord come to inspect his holdings. We were there for the long weekend and would soon depart, as we always did, back to our jobs and home in the city; we were visitors in his territory, as he may have known.
He came from the willows along the creek bed, next to the old pig lot behind the barn, and he stepped boldly across the highway and into the front yard of the house, following the course of the line fence that separates our trees and flowers from the neighbor's steers. We watched from the picture window as he quick-stepped for ten yards or so, stopped suddenly, did a rapid scan of the perimeter, and then repeated the process until he reached the weeping willow on the far end of the back yard -- where he paused again to gaze out over the marsh grasses that surround the big hole by the cottonwood where the wild ducks gather each night after dusk to squawk and peck at each other.
After about ten minutes we watched in awe as he turned around and repeated his quick march, all the way back to wherever home is across the road in the willows beyond the pig lot.
I did not think of him again until we returned for our summer leave, and then only because he suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, again just before dusk, as I stood surveying a row of sweet corn I had just re-planted in the cornfield east of the house. This time he came on the fly and landed with a thud about ten feet away, like a harrier jet plopping down on the deck of a carrier. If he noticed me at all I couldn't tell. He looked at the corn with his head held high, as if to say, "What's going on here? Nobody asked me about this."
I didn't move, held in thrall by the brilliant colors of his plumage and long-flowing tail. The sun glistened on the iridescent greenish-black hue of his head and neck. There was a bright red patch on his head just above the striking white ring that crowned a torso marked by dark reddish copper breast feathers. His sides were covered with lighter earth tones, and his brownish train of tail feathers were at least 30 inches in length and mottled with crisp black bars. I felt I was in the presence of royalty, divinity even.
He appeared suddenly like this several more times during our four-week sojourn in his realm. Once we happened to look out the window as he landed beside the other weeping willow in the front yard. He stepped out quickly as we had seen him do before, then stopped abruptly, raised his head, and crowed. I had never seen a rooster pheasant up close before these weeks of our happy sabbatical from church work, much less heard one crow. It was an unusual sound, not at all like that of a domestic fowl, deep, guttural, in tune with what Paul Tillich called the ground of being, as if he were, as the psalmist wrote, summoning the earth.
(Author's note: Some of the color descriptions in this eyewitness account were borrowed shamelessly from a pheasant website, though I will take a little credit for the attempts at a poetic re-ordering of these purloined adjectives.)
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of ten books, including How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It, now available from CSS Publishing. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, were the editors of StoryShare from 2004-2006.
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How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
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StoryShare, August 12, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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.
The compelling difference that we can make in the lives of others, and the power of nature to teach us lessons and inspire us, are the twin themes of this edition of StoryShare. In our featured story, Fanny Seville gives us a touching portrait of a kind widower who always looked for the best in people -- and through his deeds was a shining beacon of God's light in the world. Fanny also shares brief sketches of four people who embody the Gospel's call for sacrificial giving to those in need. Then David McKirachan tells of a canoe trip which taught some brash youth the difficult lesson of respecting nature's power instead of their own foolish pride. McKirachan also muses on nature's ability to inspire, especially for children who are able climb trees and wander in woods. Finally, John Sumwalt relates his sighting of a pheasant and notes how it evokes the Psalmist's words about God summoning the earth.
* * * * * * * * *
Looking for the Best
Fanny Lee Seville
Luke 12.35-40
At the end of town, in a little white brick house, lived a friendly, kind widower. This particular evening he sat quietly contemplating his life. He was baptized Marvin Martin III, but most folk called him M&M. He had lived all of his life in this house. It was here that he was born. It was here that many happy remembrances occurred. And it was here that he experienced the magnificent birth of his baby sister. The angelic expression on his mother's face when she held her daughter for the first time remained vividly in his memory. Often he recalled with joy the good times he shared with his family until that fateful day when they were taken from him in an automobile accident. His mother's sister graciously quit her job and came to live with him. She was a warm, loving woman, and treated him like her own son.
Tonight, as M&M opened the Bible for his evening devotions, he smiled and thought his life was very good. After his prayers he wrote in his black book. Then he went to bed. During the night, he fell into a very deep sleep from which he never awoke.
Marvin's pastor began his memorial service with these words: "Today, we gather to remember the life of Marvin Martin III, affectionately called M&M. He was the kindliest man I have ever known. His was a life lived for others. Permit me, please, to share with you the last seven entries in M&M's diary." Taking Marvin's black book in hand, his pastor read:
Sunday: Looking for the best in others.
Today, Pastor read from the Gospel of Luke, 12.35-40, about being ready for Jesus' return. I believe I am ready. Before church this morning, I spoke with Jan about my visiting with her kindergarten class tomorrow. She's expecting me. After worship I served coffee at coffee hour. It gave me great pleasure to ask the people "Decaf or regular?" I loved seeing the appreciative expressions on the faces of those enjoying my freshly baked cupcakes and homemade peanut butter fudge. I especially enjoyed watching Pastor hold a six-year-old child with cerebral palsy. Her head nestled under his chin as he lovingly held her in his arms. The scene reminded me of Jesus' telling his disciples to let the children come to him. Thank you, God, for pastors who care for everyone.
Monday: Looking for the best in others.
Today is my 81st birthday. To celebrate I baked sugar cookies, decorated each one with a happy face, and took them to Jan's kindergarten class. Tears filled my eyes as the children sang "Happy Birthday" to me. After reading several stories to them, I said good-bye and gave each child a hug. Jan loves teaching. Her eyes sparkled with tender, loving kindness. I think it's commendable that she uses her own money to buy supplies for her classroom. Every day after school, she volunteers to tutor students with learning difficulties. She is a very dedicated teacher. I wish all teachers possessed her commitment. Thank you, God, for teachers who care.
Tuesday: Looking for the best in others.
At noon today, I served lunch at the soup kitchen. It seems each week there are more and more people without a home. I pray for their safety. Tonight on the evening news, I heard the most amazing story. An NBA basketball player created a line of athletic shoes costing only $15 a pair, so that poor children could have the pleasure of wearing new shoes. I applaud his compassion and concern for these children whose parents don't have $100 or more to pay for trendy basketball shoes. Thank you, God, for people who care.
Wednesday: Looking for the best in others.
This week I am scheduled to make Called-to-Care visits. Today I visited John. Yesterday he was hit by a car. John had the courage to save a little boy who had wandered into the street. Fortunately he wasn't hurt, but John suffered a broken leg. I think my peanut butter fudge helped to cheer him. Thank you, God, for courageous people.
Thursday: Looking for the best in others.
I missed rehearsal with the Senior Singers today. Next Thursday we sing at the nursing home. I'm so grateful that I can live independently. Thank you, God, for my good health. Instead of singing, I traveled with Joe to a home where floodwaters had filled the basement of a widow's home. I stand in awe of Joe. His commitment to others is one to be emulated. No matter where the need, be it in Florida or Mississippi or Louisiana or Pennsylvania or North Dakota, there is Joe, leading a disaster response team. Thank you, God, for people who care.
Friday: Looking for the best in others.
In the mail today was a letter from Chip, thanking me for the 100 blankets I mailed to him in Iraq. He said all his buddies appreciated receiving a new, clean, warm blanket. I'm so proud of my grandson for serving our country, but I'm frightened for his safety and for the lives of others serving in the military. I hate war. It seems that every decade of my life the United States has been in some kind of military conflict. I pray for world peace. Thank you, God, for those who protect us.
Saturday: Looking for the best in others.
I'm rather tired tonight. Most of the day I worked with members of the church, helping to build a Habitat for Humanity home. My church friends are always ready to lend a hand whenever there is a need. Our church is blessed to have many committed members. Thank you, God, for the Church.
"And so it was with Marvin Martin III, always looking for the best in others when in reality it was we who saw his good works." M&M's pastor wiped tears from his eyes as he continued, "When his blessed Savior came, Marvin was ready. One can imagine Jesus saying, 'Well done, good and faithful servant.' "
Thanks be to God for folk like Marvin who are always ready to help others cheerfully and willingly, no matter who they are, no matter what their need may be.
The Rest of the Story
Fanny Lee Seville
Luke 12.32-34
In this week's Gospel lesson, Jesus reminds the disciples that sacrificial giving to others in need is a treasure, a treasure that can never be taken away, a treasure that no thief can steal, a treasure that no moth can destroy. Today let us consider, in the manner of Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story," the lives of four ordinary people who, because of their love for mankind, became extraordinary leaders of the world. They found their treasure in serving the poorest of the poor, the outcast, those who have no place to lay their heads, those who have no voice to be heard, those who live in profound despair. Listen to their stories.
***
She was born in 1207 in Hungary, the daughter of King Andrew II and his wife Gertrude. When she was four years old, she was promised in marriage and was taken to Thuringia, Germany, to live among her future husband's family. She grew up a very religious child, a princess who exhibited extreme compassion for the poor. At age six, her mother Gertrude was murdered. At age nine her fiancÈ died, and she was subsequently betrothed to his brother Ludwig. At age 14, she and Ludwig married. Theirs was a happy marriage; each was devoted to the other.
By age 20 she had given birth to three children and had suffered the deaths of both her husband and her father. It was then that she dedicated her life to caring for the poor and outcast and those with the most horribly debilitating diseases. To care for the sick, she built a hospital, daily ministering to the needs of the patients. Later she helped to found a Franciscan monastery.
She died at the age of 24. Those who visited her grave told stories about miracles of healing. Four years after her death, she was declared a saint of the Western Church. Today, 800 years later, German citizens recognize Elizabeth of Thuringia as the "greatest woman of the German Middle Ages" ...and now you know the rest of the story.
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She was born on August 26, 1910, in Macedonia, the youngest of three children. When she was five years old, she received her first communion. At age eight, her father died suddenly. At age 12, she felt God's call to missionary work.
At age 18, her desire to become a missionary became a reality. She left her home and joined an Irish community, the Sisters of Loreto, who were known for their missionary work in India. At age 19 she left Ireland and headed for India, where she taught girls geography and the catechism. She deeply cared for and dearly loved the children. At age 34, she became the school's principal. Two years later she contracted tuberculosis and was sent away for rest and recuperation. It was on the train ride to her resting place that she heard Jesus' call to "come be my light." At age 38, she dedicated herself to working with the poor of the world.
She had a deep, abiding love for the outcast and unwanted poor. At age 40, she started the first shelter for thousands of homeless people in Calcutta. Her success spread everywhere. She later opened houses for the poor on every continent. At age 69, she became the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize. She accepted this most prestigious award "for the glory of God and in the name of the poor."
She died at the age of 87, having spent nearly 60 years serving the sick and dying of Calcutta. People from all walks of life travel to her tomb to pray and to give thanks for her life. Five years after her death, Mother Teresa was declared a saint of the Roman Catholic Church ...and now you know the rest of the story.
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He was born in 1869 in India and married by the age of 13. When he was 19, he studied law abroad at the University College in London. Because he was Indian, his classmates ignored him. While at the university, he became interested in Henry David Thoreau's teachings and concentrated on his theory of "civil disobedience."
At age 22 he returned to India, but he was unsuccessful as a lawyer. Being discouraged he headed for South Africa, where at the age of 23 he became the first person of color on the Supreme Court. Concerned for the treatment of Indians as inferior people in South Africa, at age 24 he founded the Natal Indian Congress to fight for Indian rights. Following the teachings of Thoreau, he began a peaceful revolution at age 37 against an anti-Asian law. Thousands of Indians joined him, and he was jailed. At age 45, he returned to his homeland in India after the South African government agreed to his demands.
In India he continued to advocate for civil liberties and political rights for his Indian brothers and sisters. Focusing his attention on a campaign for home rule, he urged his people to spin their own cotton and to boycott anything British, including its government policies. Immediately he was imprisoned for two years. Later he urged a protest against England's salt tax, leading thousands of people on a 200-mile-journey to the sea where he taught them to make their own salt by evaporating sea water. Again he was arrested and placed in prison.
At age 71, he demanded India's independence from England as a reward for the people's service during World War II. He was imprisoned again for two more years. Six years later India won her independence.
At the age of 79, he was assassinated. Mahatma Gandhi became the world's symbol of nonviolent civil disobedience, believing that "one must be the change one wishes to see in the world" ...and now you know the rest of the story.
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He was born on January 15, 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. When he was 15, he graduated from high school. At age 19 he earned a Bachelor of Arts degree, and at age 22 he earned a Bachelor of Divinity degree. At age 26 he earned a doctorate and began his ministry. Like Gandhi, he followed the nonviolent resistance teachings of Henry David Thoreau. At age 27, he organized civil rights demonstrations for all people. He was arrested and his home was bombed.
During the next 12 years he was arrested over 15 times, wrote five books, traveled over six million miles, spoke over 25,000 times, and was awarded five honorary degrees. At age 35 he was the youngest man to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.
At the early age of 39 he was assassinated by a sniper. The United States Congress established a national holiday in his memory. Every January 15, people across our great nation celebrate his birthday and the remarkable leadership of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. ...and now you know the rest of the story.
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Today we may wonder, "Where are the Elizabeths, the Mother Teresas, the Gandhis, the Kings?" The world doesn't know them, but God does, and we do too. Look around you -- they may be sitting beside you or in front of you or behind you. They are everywhere. They are the ones who know that their treasure is found in serving others. They are those who stand up for the oppressed, those who give to the poor, those who nurse the sick, those who feed the hungry, those who give shelter to the homeless, those who visit the prisoner.
They are the ones who agree with Dr. King, "The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: 'If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?' But the good Samaritan reversed the question: 'If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?' " May we also follow the examples of Elizabeth of Thuringia, of Mother Teresa, of Mahatma Gandhi, of Martin Luther King Jr. Like them, may we serve gladly with love and with joy, knowing that "where your treasure is, there will your heart be also" ...and now you know the rest of the story!
Fanny Lee Seville is a retired educator who devoted her entire career to teaching children with disabilities and "at risk" high school students. She is a lifelong member of the United Church of Christ, and has served in many capacities at the local, conference, and national levels. Fanny is married to Jack Seville, Conference Minister Emeritus of the UCC's Northern Plains Conference. She is the author of Sing Stories of Jesus, a children's music book of 25 biblical stories in song.
Is Anybody Listening?
C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
I volunteered as a guide for canoe trips down the Delaware River. That statement in itself is a story. It's enough to say that I was pastor of an inner-city parish at the time. I needed this like a sail needs wind. Johnsonburg Camp, in the wilderness of New Jersey (stop laughing), is a place of climax forests and holy connections. It drew me. I ended up on the board of trustees, but that's another story as well.
The canoe trips started at the camp with training and group building, then we went by truck north into New York state to put in. Twelve senior highs and two counselors, 95 miles in five days -- everything we used, including food, tents, sleeping bags, and frisbees, went into seven canoes. Canoeing is not what we were there to do. We were building and opening and expanding people -- senior highs and decrepit old dudes as well. But with its demands and its joys and its thrills, the trip was a fitting context for growth. You learn a lot fast while negotiating whitewater or cooking meals when you'd rather lay down in the dirt and sleep.
There were always one or two who saw themselves as better than anybody else and set out to prove it. They were used to being large and in charge, or smart and capable, or all of the above. But a good amount of negotiating a river is counterintuitive. It's not something you can bull your way through, no matter how that has worked in other contexts. Experience is a great teacher. Listening to those who have an intimate knowledge of the river also works. Sometimes people prefer pain and humiliation to humility.
Two such lessons have to do with paddling faster than the current to allow steerage, and moving the back end of the canoe to let the current lever you off of rocks you may encounter. Both acknowledge that your strength is not as great as the river's. Both demonstrate that the water can be an ally, if you let it. And both demonstrate that what has always worked for you in other contexts may get you in trouble. "We always did it that way before" are very dangerous words.
Two characters inhabited what we called the Nascar canoe, running ahead and proving that they were cool and powerful at every opportunity. They had inside jokes that they threw at the "pokes" and the "slugs." They were not allowed to get out of sight of the rest of us, but they flirted with this distance. Halfway through the morning they got to a nice set of rapids. They decided to demonstrate that the caution we exercised wasn't necessary if you were as cool as they were. In the middle of the whitewater was a good-sized rock dividing the flow. They decided in their testosterone-polluted minds to get there, climb out, and give commentary on our sad lack of skill as we went by.
By the time I realized what they were doing, they were backpaddling and slowing down -- and then they landed broadside against the rock. Nascar started filling with water. Rather than pushing the rear end around, they tried pushing off of the rock against the current. I went to the shore and jumped into the water above them. I could hear the aluminum screaming as it bent and the rivets popping like demonic corn. They climbed up on the rock and watched as the river wrapped the canoe around the obstruction like a shawl. Their equipment and packs and food took off downriver.
There was no need to chastise them. They'd been humiliated quickly and effectively. Whatever edge they thought they had on the group was gone and now they were in need. How far they had fallen.
We found most of their stuff along the way. But that night they slept on a tarp, while their sleeping bags hung in a tree drying. We had another canoe by the end of the next day. They'd been passengers for a while. Their racing days were over. By the end of the trip they began to laugh at themselves, a sure sign of health.
If only they'd listened. But maybe they needed the lesson. It's a terrible way to learn, but you know how pride is. It takes us places we never should have gone, invites us to do things others warn us about, and helps us to conveniently forget all the good advice wiser folk have offered. It reassures us that if we go through the motions of being nice people, we'll be fine. It leads nations to war. It invites us to forget about the poor, to forget about the ones who live at the margins, in the shadows. Isaiah knew. He understood the power of the river... and he understood the cost of forgetting.
Up a Tree
C. David McKirachan
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
I grew up in a 23-room granite mansion that fronted the Susquehanna River. My father was minister of a BIG church -- he was brilliant, insightful, and ran with the big guys. My mother was one of the most grounded, intelligent people I ever knew. Quite a combo. But I was lonely. I spent a lot of time down by the river wandering by myself, poking, discovering, pretending.
It was an old neighborhood, with immense maple and elm and oak trees spreading branches into the spaces that separated them. The squirrels never needed to come down. Once I learned how to get up the thick trunks, I'd spend hours up with the birds and the wind. I'd take maple seeds (the helicopter kind) and split them, letting their sap glue them to my ears. It made me invisible -- I was a wood elf. I was above all the comings and goings on the ground, at home and free and immune.
You see, I believed in magic. I believed that somewhere, just as close as the branches of the sugar maple in the front yard, pulsed and breathed a world of music and powerful secrets. It was a world of monstrous truth, of glory and tragedy. My Druid ancestors would have understood.
Most of the time we grow out of such silly childhood games. Most of the time we become functional and practical and goal-oriented. Most of the time the world loses its brightness and glory. Most of the time...
Probably because of my parents and teachers and the power of literature and the flow of the Spirit, that child continued to believe. He became practical enough to get degrees and jobs. He even got married and had kids. But in spite of all the world's demands, the magic wouldn't go away. It whispered just below the honk and screech of angry judgment and sadness. It scintillated just beyond the hard-edged, colorless machinery. It sang in spite of standardized, empty facts.
We don't like the word "magic." We don't allow earth power and sky spirit in the same dimension. The bonds that tie us to each other and to our blue home are present in every breath. Yet we put them in files labeled "psychodynamics." No wonder there are few heroes of faith -- in the DSM diagnostic catalogue they are labeled "Religiously Preoccupied."
But I believed in the child's vision. I believed that the world of wonder was real. And somehow here in this late day, I've wandered into a dappled grove of ancient peace that whispers and sings with the music of the elves. You need not affirm my silly attitudes. The failures and lost potential in my wake are proof of my lack of dependability. But one luxury of exocentrism is a delightful tolerance of all of those who do not share the worldview that allows the exocentric to stand so solidly. I believe in the power of Love. And I have faith in its author to weave a tapestry that has little to do with credit ratings. My hope is assured.
Pretty good for a kid up a tree...
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Summoning the Earth
John E. Sumwalt
The mighty one, God the Lord, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty shines forth. Our God does not keep silence.
-- Psalm 50:1-3a
He first appeared late on Sunday afternoon of Memorial Day weekend, just before dusk, this striking stranger who seemed perfectly at home in the farmhouse yard, though not one of us human inhabitants had ever seen him there before. He acted like he owned the place, like a medieval lord come to inspect his holdings. We were there for the long weekend and would soon depart, as we always did, back to our jobs and home in the city; we were visitors in his territory, as he may have known.
He came from the willows along the creek bed, next to the old pig lot behind the barn, and he stepped boldly across the highway and into the front yard of the house, following the course of the line fence that separates our trees and flowers from the neighbor's steers. We watched from the picture window as he quick-stepped for ten yards or so, stopped suddenly, did a rapid scan of the perimeter, and then repeated the process until he reached the weeping willow on the far end of the back yard -- where he paused again to gaze out over the marsh grasses that surround the big hole by the cottonwood where the wild ducks gather each night after dusk to squawk and peck at each other.
After about ten minutes we watched in awe as he turned around and repeated his quick march, all the way back to wherever home is across the road in the willows beyond the pig lot.
I did not think of him again until we returned for our summer leave, and then only because he suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, again just before dusk, as I stood surveying a row of sweet corn I had just re-planted in the cornfield east of the house. This time he came on the fly and landed with a thud about ten feet away, like a harrier jet plopping down on the deck of a carrier. If he noticed me at all I couldn't tell. He looked at the corn with his head held high, as if to say, "What's going on here? Nobody asked me about this."
I didn't move, held in thrall by the brilliant colors of his plumage and long-flowing tail. The sun glistened on the iridescent greenish-black hue of his head and neck. There was a bright red patch on his head just above the striking white ring that crowned a torso marked by dark reddish copper breast feathers. His sides were covered with lighter earth tones, and his brownish train of tail feathers were at least 30 inches in length and mottled with crisp black bars. I felt I was in the presence of royalty, divinity even.
He appeared suddenly like this several more times during our four-week sojourn in his realm. Once we happened to look out the window as he landed beside the other weeping willow in the front yard. He stepped out quickly as we had seen him do before, then stopped abruptly, raised his head, and crowed. I had never seen a rooster pheasant up close before these weeks of our happy sabbatical from church work, much less heard one crow. It was an unusual sound, not at all like that of a domestic fowl, deep, guttural, in tune with what Paul Tillich called the ground of being, as if he were, as the psalmist wrote, summoning the earth.
(Author's note: Some of the color descriptions in this eyewitness account were borrowed shamelessly from a pheasant website, though I will take a little credit for the attempts at a poetic re-ordering of these purloined adjectives.)
John E. Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of ten books, including How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It, now available from CSS Publishing. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, were the editors of StoryShare from 2004-2006.
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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 email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
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StoryShare, August 12, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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.
