Love Language That Hurts
Stories
Note: This installment was originally published in 2007.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Love Language That Hurts" by Argile Smith
"Whine And Cheese" by C. David McKirachan
"Moving On" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
We don't always like what is asked of us by our work place, our family, or even by God. We really only have two choices: Do the job asked of us to the best of our ability and make the best of it. Or, we can just slog onward hoping that something better will come along. Which person do you want to be? No matter how uncomfortable or uneasy we may be, we should always show the world what being a Christian is all about - love.
Love Language That Hurts
By Argile Smith
Jeremiah 1:4-10; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Margaret knew that the time had come. She had been putting it off long enough, perhaps too long. Her fear of what would happen had mortified her in the past, but now her resolve to have the conversation with her son, Brian, subdued her dread of a nasty confrontation with him.
Brian hadn't been all that bad. He hadn't committed a crime or gotten suspended from school or fired from his job. But she could see it in his eyes, a subtle sprout of defiance that she could trace to his heart. For sure, his friends had probably influenced him to start talking to his mom with a newly barbed tongue and a slightly insolent smirk. And after all, he was a bona fide teenager, and certain changes in his body chemistry could account in some measure for the mild but troubling alteration in his behavior. No matter the cause, his behavior troubled Margaret, and she determined that she would talk with him about it.
She took a deep breath, and then she asked Brian to join her in the kitchen. They had always enjoyed so many good talks there before. When he was younger, he would sit on a stool in the kitchen and talk away while she cut up celery or put away dishes. Sometimes they worked together there, talking while they shared the kitchen tasks at hand.
Brian complied, but only with his body. He seemed to place his mind and his heart out of her reach as he slumped down on the stool, slouching onto the counter, and playing with a stray drinking straw that happened to be close at hand. She started to talk, anticipating that he had no intention of listening to her. But she persisted, asking him to think about the kind of person he wanted to become, the behavior he exhibited that frightened her, and the potential outcome of their strained relationship. As she talked, either he mumbled under his breath or he offered the same "I don't know we're having this conversation" kind of reply. At times, he even appeared to get frustrated with her and pointed out with an arrogant flair that he couldn't sit there forever. He had other things to do, other errands to run, and other people who were waiting for him to join them.
Sensing that she was getting nowhere, she gave up and brought the conversation to an abrupt close. Trying her best not to register despair because of her failed attempt, she made her way as quickly as she could to her bedroom to sit, reflect, and of course, cry.
That's when something striking happened. Brian walked by her room as he made his way down the hall toward the front door, and he heard her sobbing into a hand towel. He peeked inside for a closer look, and there he saw his broken-hearted mother weeping because he had tormented her with worry, and what he saw got to him. He carried the image of his sobbing mom out the door with him, and it haunted him for a long time to come.
Why? Because he saw for the first time that his mother loved him enough to talk straight with him, to take the risk of pushing him farther away in an effort to bring him close.
That's what parents who love their children do every day. So does God, and so do we when we speak in His love to people we love. Prophetic speech isn't cruelty put to words. It's loving language wrapped in sometimes-painful discourse.
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He previously served at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. He has also been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books, including Helping Hurting People: Reconciliation-Focused Counseling and Preaching and Interpersonal Relationship Skills for Ministers.
Whine And Cheese
By C. David McKirachan
Psalm 71
New findings in research are always fun to read. The latest information on heterosexual relationships indicates that men and women probably shouldn't talk about their relationships to solve their problems. Since they speak two different languages and their priorities in relationships are different and their personal anxieties are based on different dynamics, the more they talk the further they move apart.
Great, so where does that leave the marriage therapy industry?
Anyway, one of those personal anxiety dynamics these experts mentioned was shame. Evidentially men are much more worried about failure and shame than women are. Women are worried about fear and isolation. Hmmm... so Psalm 71 was probably written by a guy, "Let me never be put to shame."
I read this Psalm and I thought it whined a lot. So I thought as I sat in profound well-adjusted judgment. Where is this person's faith? Why don't they just get off their insecure butt and get moving? Then I read the article about personal anxiety dynamics. Strangely it embarrassed me. Gee, am I a guy or what? I value my willingness to say and do things that push the envelope. I value my sense of security and boldness. I value my reputation for being a little nuts. I was embarrassed at being discovered. I was ashamed of my whining.
Yep, guilty as charged. Periodically I positively wallow in the muck of shame and ooey, gooey self-pity. Poooor meeeee. I thought it had to do with my regression as an integrated personality back to the infantile desire to be treated as a vulnerable and needy being. I could live with that. And now I find out it's a guy thing. I asked a few women what they thought of this finding. They all responded "Duuhh..." I think they knew it all along. So much for ground-breaking research.
I shared it with another pastor, male by physiology, who responded, "Yep, I always liked that Psalm." This bothered me more. Aren't we supposed to be open and beyond such petty needs and desires? "Of course. But we aren't and we never will be. So this is just an honest expression of some guy's natural inclination to worry about shame and to whine about it. Don't you think God knows we whine?" Who made him so well adjusted?
Great, so now I'm ashamed about being so limited in my relationship with God. You'd think after all these years I could have learned that God accepts me as I am. I don't deserve God's acceptance. Oh, how can I be an effective pastor...
I think I'll serve a little cheese with this latest whine and have a party. But I'll make sure to invite the Lord. God knows He puts up with a lot. Or is it She?
Moving On
By C. David McKirachan
Luke 4:14-21
My father was a minister, dearly beloved by his congregations, except for one. He moved with regularity, much to the chagrin of our family. Each move was interpreted to the rug rats by my mother as part of his service to the Lord, a pretty lame excuse for uprooting the family if you happened to ask a kid who after the age of four was not interested in any part of service to anybody except what I was losing. After a few intervening years and some of my own experience in the pastorate and a bit of wrestling with my own demons, I came to see his moves and my mother's interpretations with less angst and more empathy.
After my first move, I was talking to him at the dinner table in their house at the shore. We meandered into the whole subject of leaving a church, the tugging and grieving and wondering what was happening in the place that used to be so much of a focus. He told me with a wistful look, "You can't go back. You're not as important to them as you thought you were and worse, you're not as important to them as they thought you were. It's less humbling than it is embarrassing."
The relationships we develop as pastors with a group of people are full of expectations and knots and tangles that are packed with complex feelings and disappointments and joys and myths. So many of our memories are part of our own issues and levels of self-satisfaction rather than resembling the dynamics that drove the moment. We remember through a glass darkly, certain things standing up and others receding without much consistency. And our flashes of significant moments rarely match those of others who were also protagonists in these events.
We remember things from our point of view as they do the same. And to top it all off, we all change over time. They remember this kid who was trying to figure out how to run his life, and here stands this new person, getting a little grey around the gills with all kinds of scars and experience and growth with the same name (my nose hasn't changed). The person they remember isn't alive anymore, and they aren't the people they were then. Awkward...
Jesus took them unawares. He waltzed in and did his thing. Joseph doesn't seem to be around, but Mary was. The memories and perceptions and expectations were all there, a flock of discrepancies between this guy who spoke with such authority and the kid who drove the sheep through Rubin's house, remember?
But something impressed them. He knew his scripture. He lifted up the prophet in such a way that they could almost hear Isaiah himself, speaking to a recalcitrant and frightened and confused people. The scripture came alive and they were impressed, not so much with him but somehow the scripture spoke with a new authority that day.
I wonder if they remembered that after the hoo-ha had died down. I wonder if they remembered how their hearts burned before they were insulted by his sermon. I wonder if they ever allowed themselves to listen with ears unstopped with arrogance.
Maybe he should have stopped while he was ahead. It's a real caution against preaching too long. But as my father said, "You can't go back." Jesus was on his way. Time to move on.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
**********************************************
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 email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, January 28, 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.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Love Language That Hurts" by Argile Smith
"Whine And Cheese" by C. David McKirachan
"Moving On" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
We don't always like what is asked of us by our work place, our family, or even by God. We really only have two choices: Do the job asked of us to the best of our ability and make the best of it. Or, we can just slog onward hoping that something better will come along. Which person do you want to be? No matter how uncomfortable or uneasy we may be, we should always show the world what being a Christian is all about - love.
Love Language That Hurts
By Argile Smith
Jeremiah 1:4-10; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Margaret knew that the time had come. She had been putting it off long enough, perhaps too long. Her fear of what would happen had mortified her in the past, but now her resolve to have the conversation with her son, Brian, subdued her dread of a nasty confrontation with him.
Brian hadn't been all that bad. He hadn't committed a crime or gotten suspended from school or fired from his job. But she could see it in his eyes, a subtle sprout of defiance that she could trace to his heart. For sure, his friends had probably influenced him to start talking to his mom with a newly barbed tongue and a slightly insolent smirk. And after all, he was a bona fide teenager, and certain changes in his body chemistry could account in some measure for the mild but troubling alteration in his behavior. No matter the cause, his behavior troubled Margaret, and she determined that she would talk with him about it.
She took a deep breath, and then she asked Brian to join her in the kitchen. They had always enjoyed so many good talks there before. When he was younger, he would sit on a stool in the kitchen and talk away while she cut up celery or put away dishes. Sometimes they worked together there, talking while they shared the kitchen tasks at hand.
Brian complied, but only with his body. He seemed to place his mind and his heart out of her reach as he slumped down on the stool, slouching onto the counter, and playing with a stray drinking straw that happened to be close at hand. She started to talk, anticipating that he had no intention of listening to her. But she persisted, asking him to think about the kind of person he wanted to become, the behavior he exhibited that frightened her, and the potential outcome of their strained relationship. As she talked, either he mumbled under his breath or he offered the same "I don't know we're having this conversation" kind of reply. At times, he even appeared to get frustrated with her and pointed out with an arrogant flair that he couldn't sit there forever. He had other things to do, other errands to run, and other people who were waiting for him to join them.
Sensing that she was getting nowhere, she gave up and brought the conversation to an abrupt close. Trying her best not to register despair because of her failed attempt, she made her way as quickly as she could to her bedroom to sit, reflect, and of course, cry.
That's when something striking happened. Brian walked by her room as he made his way down the hall toward the front door, and he heard her sobbing into a hand towel. He peeked inside for a closer look, and there he saw his broken-hearted mother weeping because he had tormented her with worry, and what he saw got to him. He carried the image of his sobbing mom out the door with him, and it haunted him for a long time to come.
Why? Because he saw for the first time that his mother loved him enough to talk straight with him, to take the risk of pushing him farther away in an effort to bring him close.
That's what parents who love their children do every day. So does God, and so do we when we speak in His love to people we love. Prophetic speech isn't cruelty put to words. It's loving language wrapped in sometimes-painful discourse.
Argile Smith is vice president for advancement at William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He previously served at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary (NOBTS) as a preaching professor, chairman of the Division of Pastoral Ministries, and director of the communications center. While at NOTBS, Smith regularly hosted the Gateway to Truth program on the FamilyNet television network. He has also been the pastor of several congregations in Louisiana and Mississippi. Smith's articles have been widely published in church periodicals, and he is the author or editor of four books, including Helping Hurting People: Reconciliation-Focused Counseling and Preaching and Interpersonal Relationship Skills for Ministers.
Whine And Cheese
By C. David McKirachan
Psalm 71
New findings in research are always fun to read. The latest information on heterosexual relationships indicates that men and women probably shouldn't talk about their relationships to solve their problems. Since they speak two different languages and their priorities in relationships are different and their personal anxieties are based on different dynamics, the more they talk the further they move apart.
Great, so where does that leave the marriage therapy industry?
Anyway, one of those personal anxiety dynamics these experts mentioned was shame. Evidentially men are much more worried about failure and shame than women are. Women are worried about fear and isolation. Hmmm... so Psalm 71 was probably written by a guy, "Let me never be put to shame."
I read this Psalm and I thought it whined a lot. So I thought as I sat in profound well-adjusted judgment. Where is this person's faith? Why don't they just get off their insecure butt and get moving? Then I read the article about personal anxiety dynamics. Strangely it embarrassed me. Gee, am I a guy or what? I value my willingness to say and do things that push the envelope. I value my sense of security and boldness. I value my reputation for being a little nuts. I was embarrassed at being discovered. I was ashamed of my whining.
Yep, guilty as charged. Periodically I positively wallow in the muck of shame and ooey, gooey self-pity. Poooor meeeee. I thought it had to do with my regression as an integrated personality back to the infantile desire to be treated as a vulnerable and needy being. I could live with that. And now I find out it's a guy thing. I asked a few women what they thought of this finding. They all responded "Duuhh..." I think they knew it all along. So much for ground-breaking research.
I shared it with another pastor, male by physiology, who responded, "Yep, I always liked that Psalm." This bothered me more. Aren't we supposed to be open and beyond such petty needs and desires? "Of course. But we aren't and we never will be. So this is just an honest expression of some guy's natural inclination to worry about shame and to whine about it. Don't you think God knows we whine?" Who made him so well adjusted?
Great, so now I'm ashamed about being so limited in my relationship with God. You'd think after all these years I could have learned that God accepts me as I am. I don't deserve God's acceptance. Oh, how can I be an effective pastor...
I think I'll serve a little cheese with this latest whine and have a party. But I'll make sure to invite the Lord. God knows He puts up with a lot. Or is it She?
Moving On
By C. David McKirachan
Luke 4:14-21
My father was a minister, dearly beloved by his congregations, except for one. He moved with regularity, much to the chagrin of our family. Each move was interpreted to the rug rats by my mother as part of his service to the Lord, a pretty lame excuse for uprooting the family if you happened to ask a kid who after the age of four was not interested in any part of service to anybody except what I was losing. After a few intervening years and some of my own experience in the pastorate and a bit of wrestling with my own demons, I came to see his moves and my mother's interpretations with less angst and more empathy.
After my first move, I was talking to him at the dinner table in their house at the shore. We meandered into the whole subject of leaving a church, the tugging and grieving and wondering what was happening in the place that used to be so much of a focus. He told me with a wistful look, "You can't go back. You're not as important to them as you thought you were and worse, you're not as important to them as they thought you were. It's less humbling than it is embarrassing."
The relationships we develop as pastors with a group of people are full of expectations and knots and tangles that are packed with complex feelings and disappointments and joys and myths. So many of our memories are part of our own issues and levels of self-satisfaction rather than resembling the dynamics that drove the moment. We remember through a glass darkly, certain things standing up and others receding without much consistency. And our flashes of significant moments rarely match those of others who were also protagonists in these events.
We remember things from our point of view as they do the same. And to top it all off, we all change over time. They remember this kid who was trying to figure out how to run his life, and here stands this new person, getting a little grey around the gills with all kinds of scars and experience and growth with the same name (my nose hasn't changed). The person they remember isn't alive anymore, and they aren't the people they were then. Awkward...
Jesus took them unawares. He waltzed in and did his thing. Joseph doesn't seem to be around, but Mary was. The memories and perceptions and expectations were all there, a flock of discrepancies between this guy who spoke with such authority and the kid who drove the sheep through Rubin's house, remember?
But something impressed them. He knew his scripture. He lifted up the prophet in such a way that they could almost hear Isaiah himself, speaking to a recalcitrant and frightened and confused people. The scripture came alive and they were impressed, not so much with him but somehow the scripture spoke with a new authority that day.
I wonder if they remembered that after the hoo-ha had died down. I wonder if they remembered how their hearts burned before they were insulted by his sermon. I wonder if they ever allowed themselves to listen with ears unstopped with arrogance.
Maybe he should have stopped while he was ahead. It's a real caution against preaching too long. But as my father said, "You can't go back." Jesus was on his way. Time to move on.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
**********************************************
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 email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, January 28, 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.
