Make Your Heart A Manger
Stories
Object:
A Story to Live By
Make Your Heart a Manger
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom...
Colossians 3:16a
Pastor Jess Moody tells of a conversation he once had with Rose Kennedy, the mother of the late President John Kennedy and the matriarch of the large Kennedy clan. Mrs. Kennedy told him that after the birth of Rosemary, their retarded daughter, she gave up on God. She withdrew from any kind of social life. One of the maids in the Kennedy household lovingly confronted her about her attitude. She told Rose Kennedy, "...you'll never be happy until you make your heart a manger where the Christ child may be born." Mrs. Kennedy fired the maid. But she couldn't forget what the maid said. That night Rose Kennedy knelt beside her bed and prayed that her heart would be a manger where the Christ Child could be born. From that day on, she had a new attitude and began to open her heart to the world -- and she rehired the maid.
(Jess Moody, Club Sandwich Goes Great with Chicken Soup, Broadman & Holman, 1999, pgs. 29-34)
Shining Moments
Saved
by Cheryl Kirking
Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
Colossians 3:13-14
"I may have a story for your book, Cheryl." I had just finished presenting at a women's event, and had told the audience that I was compiling this book of Christmas stories. She had been lingering near the table where I was signing books, and I could see she wanted to wait until the crowd had dwindled.
She was in her mid-sixties, trim and attractive, with perfectly coiffed silver hair and wearing a stylish navy pantsuit. I smiled enthusiastically. "Well, great! Tell me!" I urged.
"No. There are so many woman who still want to speak with you -- I don't want to monopolize your time." She leaned close, almost whispering. "When you're done here, could you meet with me in the lounge by the library? It won't take long."
"Okay!" I whispered back with a smile.
After greeting the few remaining women, I left my husband, who had traveled with me, to pack up our sound equipment. I wandered down the deserted hallways to the library lounge where she was waiting, as promised.
"Hi!" I smiled, extending my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch you name...?"
"It's Joanna," she smiled back, squeezing my hand. "I appreciate your staying late... I know you must be tired. But I didn't want to take you away from the others. And..." she glanced at the door, "I really don't want anyone to overhear."
We sat on the couch. She smoothed her slacks and examined her manicured nails. Looking up, she smiled. "After I tell you my story, you'll understand why I don't want anyone to overhear." I nodded, trying my best to look understanding.
"Well," she began with a sigh. "I've never told anyone this, but I have wanted to. It's not something I'm proud of, but in a strange way, I'm glad it happened." I nodded again, my curiosity piqued.
"It happened almost thirty years ago, in mid-December. It was three days before my husband's company Christmas party. I was doing a little shopping, and feeling sorry for myself, I guess. I couldn't buy the cocktail dress I had wanted, and would wear an 'old' dress to the party instead. My husband owned his own company then, and business had not been good that year. He felt like a failure, and I was frustrated that he had given all the employees a raise the year before, and yet we were struggling to maintain our current lifestyle. And our lifestyle was a struggle to maintain even in a good year." She smiled wryly. "We tended to live far beyond our means."
"Well," she continued, "as I was Christmas shopping I thought I'd take a peek at the jewelry counter, and I spotted a gold cloisonné bangle bracelet. Not solid gold, probably gold-plated, but with a lovely enameled design. It wasn't terribly expensive, maybe thirty dollars. I certainly didn't need it. But I felt like I needed it -- needed something new, just for me. I don't know how else to explain it. I just felt that I deserved that bracelet!
"And... Cheryl," she looked at me intensely, "I took the bracelet! Just slipped it on, and went about my shopping. I almost... almost... left the store with it on. The voice inside me kept saying, 'Joanna, this isn't like you! It isn't right!' But I kept it on, until my conscience got the better of me and I decided to put it back. As I was hanging it back on the display rack, I jumped at the sound of a man's voice. 'So, you decided against the bracelet?' A man in a brown jacket was suddenly standing right next to me. My nerves were completely rattled, but I tried to appear nonchalant as I asked, 'I beg your pardon?' And he answered, 'I noticed you are putting that bracelet back.'
"I tried to sound innocent, but was I stammering, 'Yes, well... I had tried it on, you see... and I forgot I was wearing it.' He gave me this look, this incriminating look, and said, 'Uh huh... well, I'm glad you remembered to put it back.'
"I was furious at his insinuation! Oh, I was indignant! As I turned to storm away, he repeated, 'Really, ma'am, I'm really glad you decided to put it back.' This time his voice was soft... forgiving. It was like he was looking directly into my soul.
"He must have worked for the store's security. He must have seen me take it! I was that close to being arrested for shoplifting!" She held her thumb and forefinger a quarter-inch apart. "And for what? A little bracelet!
"I don't even remember driving home, but when I got there, I just fell through the kitchen doorway and collapsed onto the floor. Just crumbled, my forehead on the floor, and kept saying 'Oh god, oh god, oh god.' Thinking over and over how I could have been arrested, how my reputation would have been ruined, how stupid I was, how angry I was at that security guy... and at myself. I was just shaking, shivering, repeating in disbelief, 'Oh god, oh god, oh god!'
"Then after five, maybe ten, minutes -- my words took on a different tone. 'Oh God!' My words became a cry to the Almighty. 'Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!' I was crying out for forgiveness, asking him to help erase my haughtiness, begging him to come and fill the void that I foolishly thought a new dress and jewelry might fill. But I think I knew, deep down, it wasn't about the bracelet. It was about so, so much more that was missing in my life! I promised him I'd change. I asked him to change me. I was so ashamed, and yet... an incredible feeling of relief flooded over me. I knew that I was forgiven. Forgiven, not just for the bracelet incident, but for all my sins. My cry became words of humility and gratitude. Words of praise! 'Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!'
"So..." she sighed, dropping her hands on her lap, "that's my Christmas story... not just because it happened at Christmastime, but because it's when Jesus came to me, like he came to the world at Christmas."
"Or maybe the day you came to him," I pondered quietly.
"Yes! Yes -- that's exactly how it was!" she exclaimed. "I came to him and made a promise, and accepted his promise. He saved me from... myself. Saved me from an empty life. I am so much more..." She searched for the word. "So much more... compassionate now. I realize that my weaknesses are no less sinful than those of others who have more 'obvious' faults. I'm not proud of my story, but I think it has a purpose. I don't know what you might want to do with it, but if you think it might help somebody, you can use it however you wish. Maybe you can find a way to make it seem... interesting."
"Oh, I think it's plenty interesting, Joanna," I said, giving her a hug. "And thank you for sharing your story. I know it will touch people's hearts."
It had already touched mine. It reminded me that we have a great God, who so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. A Savior who came to us as a humble baby. Accessible, that we might come to him, to receive his promise: of forgiveness, of love, of eternity. Who hears us when we humbly cry out, "Oh God!"
If my people, who are called by my name, humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.... Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayers offered... my eyes and my heart will always be there.
2 Chronicles 7:14-16 (paraphrased)
Cheryl Kirking weaves her unique blend of original songs, homespun humor, and personal anecdotes in family concerts, women's conferences, and speaking appearances throughout the United States. She has recorded six CDs on the Mill Pond Music label, and she is the author of the books Ripples of Joy; Teacher, You're an A+; and All Is Calm, All Is Bright: True Stories of Christmas. Visit her website at www.cherylkirking.com.
("Saved" was originally printed in All Is Calm, All Is Bright: True Stories of Christmas, published by Fleming H. Revell / Baker Books ©2001).
Good Stories
An Old Enemy
by Kendall Anderson
Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
Colossians 3:13-14
We met on a commercial flight between Minneapolis and Detroit sometime in the late 1950s. He was Oriental. It was almost 15 years after the war [World War II]. I don't remember his name, but I still have his business card somewhere in my desk. I'm not sure why I sat beside him. In those days the airlines still allowed you to pick your own seat. I could have sat with any number of people, or I could have sat by myself. For some reason, I chose to sit beside him.
The plane took off, and after we had been flying for a little while, I asked him if he was Japanese. He said yes. On an impulse I decided to tell him a story that I had just heard -- about a man who died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell. He decided to go to hell because he thought that was where his friends were most likely to be. When he arrived in hell he discovered that there was plenty of rice and other good things to eat, but everyone was starving because the chopsticks were all six feet long. He didn't like the looks of things in hell, so he asked if he could go to heaven instead. He was given permission to go, and when he arrived he discovered that everything was exactly the same, except in heaven they were feeding each other.
"Oh," said my companion, "you must be a Christian. I am, too."
He went on to tell that his mother was a Christian and that he had become a Christian after the war. I asked him what he had done during the war. He said that he had been a fighter pilot in the Southwest Pacific. I told him that I had been a fighter pilot, too, in the same area. We quickly compared notes and discovered that we had flown missions over Formosa at the same time. Neither of us said it aloud, but I'm sure it occurred to him, as it did to me, that had we met in the air during the war, we would have tried to kill each other.
We went on to talk about our work. He was serving on the economic Council of the United Nations as a representative of Japan. I thought about the great number of people throughout the world that he was able to help with his work, and me with mine, and it struck me what a great tragedy it would have been if one of us had killed the other.
When I got off the plane, I didn't hate the Japanese people anymore, and I knew the meaning of forgiveness.
Kendall W. Anderson is a graduate of Bangor Theological Seminary and served pastorates in New England and Wisconsin before retiring in 1984. He served as a pilot with the 39th Fighter Squadron in the Southwest Pacific in World War II. Write to Ken at Skylight Gardens #102, 501 First Street North, St. Cloud, MN 56303. Phone: 320-252-8090.
Scrap Pile
Christmas Communion
by John Sumwalt
A young woman drove a rented car slowly up a snow-covered mountain road on a cold Christmas Eve. She was going to see her father, whom she had not seen in twelve years. She had been sixteen when her father and mother divorced after his affair with a woman at work. Neither she nor her mother had ever been able to forgive him. The affair had not lasted and her father had soon given up his corporate job in an eastern city and moved to Colorado -- "to rest his weary soul in the solitude of the mountains" was what he had written in the first letter he sent after he left home. He had taken a job with the national park service for the summer and hoped he might find something at a ski resort in the winter. That was all she knew about his life for all of those years. Letters had come regularly from the same address in a town called Ward, and she had carefully saved each one, unopened, in a cookie tin on the back shelf of the large walk-in closet in the bedroom of her townhouse. She had done well for herself, ironically, in the same company that had once employed her father.
The last line of that one letter she had read flashed into her mind, as it had so many times before, as she saw the road sign for Ward with an arrow pointing to the right. "I hope you will be able to forgive me some day, Gracie. I love you."
Could she forgive him? Was that why she had come? Even after the long flight and the equally long drive from the airport on unfamiliar mountain roads, she still didn't know.
Grace and her mother had always spent Christmases together, vacationing in Florida or the Caribbean. It was a way of distracting themselves from what they had lost. Now that her mother was remarried there was no place to go. They had invited her for Christmas, her mother and Ted, but she hadn't wanted to intrude on their first holiday together. So, here she was on the road to Ward.
Grace could see the lights of the little town shimmering below her, shiny and yellow against the snow, like the gold that had once been mined from the mountain. She turned off the main highway and shifted into low gear. The road down to the village was steep and narrow and snow-covered. Sand had been spread on the curves, but she still had to go slow. She wondered in which of the thirty or forty houses and old miner's shacks she would find her father. She pulled up in front of the general store. The porch light was on and the door was open. A young woman about her own age, dressed in bib overalls with braided hair hanging down to her waist, was crocheting behind the counter near a small wood-burning stove. Candy bars, cigarettes, and several brands of cough medicine lined the shelves behind her. The woman smiled at Grace and said, "Good evening. What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for my father," Grace said. The plaintive tone of her own voice surprised her. She told the woman her father's name and immediately saw a knowing look of recognition. "Old Jim. He comes in here all the time. You must be Grace. He told me about you."
It seemed strange to hear her father called old. Grace remembered him as middle-aged. Of course he would be older now, in his late sixties. It pleased Grace to know he had spoken of her.
"Almost everybody is up at the church," the woman said. "I saw your dad go up about a half-hour ago. A retired preacher comes up from Nederbet every Christmas Eve. It's about the only time they have services here. You can leave your car out in front. It's easier to walk from here."
Grace slowly made her way over the footbridge spanning the ice-covered stream that wound through the center of the town. She could see the small clapboard church about 200 yards up the mountain. On top of the steeple there were green, blue, and red Christmas lights flashing in the form of a star. They appeared to be attached to the cross. Her hands trembled as she opened the door of the church. Would her father be glad to see her after all these years? Would he recognize her?
She spotted him, sitting by himself in one of the back pews. "Old Jim." The woman at the store was right. His hair was thin and completely gray. He was much heavier now. He looked tired, and, the thought pained her, very much alone.
The congregation stood up to sing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." The words of the familiar carol rang in her ears as she slipped into the pew beside her father. "Glory to the newborn King, Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled."
She squeezed her father's hand and a smile came over his face in the same instant he turned to see her. "Grace," he said, "I'm so glad to see you."
"Daddy," was all she was able to say.
When the preacher gave the invitation to come forward for Christmas communion, Grace and her father walked up the aisle hand in hand.
(This story came to John as a gift of the Spirit as he passed through Ward following a 1996 camping expedition in Rocky Mountain National Park with his brothers Alan and Bob, his son Orrin, and his nephews Nelson, Andrew, and Marshall. It originally appeared in the December 24, 2002 edition of StoryShare.)
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New Book
The second volume in the vision series, Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences, is available from CSS Publishing Company. For more information about the book visit the CSS website at http://www.csspub.com. You can order any of our books on the CSS website (see the complete list below); they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.) Click on any title for more information.
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Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
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StoryShare, December 28, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
Make Your Heart a Manger
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom...
Colossians 3:16a
Pastor Jess Moody tells of a conversation he once had with Rose Kennedy, the mother of the late President John Kennedy and the matriarch of the large Kennedy clan. Mrs. Kennedy told him that after the birth of Rosemary, their retarded daughter, she gave up on God. She withdrew from any kind of social life. One of the maids in the Kennedy household lovingly confronted her about her attitude. She told Rose Kennedy, "...you'll never be happy until you make your heart a manger where the Christ child may be born." Mrs. Kennedy fired the maid. But she couldn't forget what the maid said. That night Rose Kennedy knelt beside her bed and prayed that her heart would be a manger where the Christ Child could be born. From that day on, she had a new attitude and began to open her heart to the world -- and she rehired the maid.
(Jess Moody, Club Sandwich Goes Great with Chicken Soup, Broadman & Holman, 1999, pgs. 29-34)
Shining Moments
Saved
by Cheryl Kirking
Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
Colossians 3:13-14
"I may have a story for your book, Cheryl." I had just finished presenting at a women's event, and had told the audience that I was compiling this book of Christmas stories. She had been lingering near the table where I was signing books, and I could see she wanted to wait until the crowd had dwindled.
She was in her mid-sixties, trim and attractive, with perfectly coiffed silver hair and wearing a stylish navy pantsuit. I smiled enthusiastically. "Well, great! Tell me!" I urged.
"No. There are so many woman who still want to speak with you -- I don't want to monopolize your time." She leaned close, almost whispering. "When you're done here, could you meet with me in the lounge by the library? It won't take long."
"Okay!" I whispered back with a smile.
After greeting the few remaining women, I left my husband, who had traveled with me, to pack up our sound equipment. I wandered down the deserted hallways to the library lounge where she was waiting, as promised.
"Hi!" I smiled, extending my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch you name...?"
"It's Joanna," she smiled back, squeezing my hand. "I appreciate your staying late... I know you must be tired. But I didn't want to take you away from the others. And..." she glanced at the door, "I really don't want anyone to overhear."
We sat on the couch. She smoothed her slacks and examined her manicured nails. Looking up, she smiled. "After I tell you my story, you'll understand why I don't want anyone to overhear." I nodded, trying my best to look understanding.
"Well," she began with a sigh. "I've never told anyone this, but I have wanted to. It's not something I'm proud of, but in a strange way, I'm glad it happened." I nodded again, my curiosity piqued.
"It happened almost thirty years ago, in mid-December. It was three days before my husband's company Christmas party. I was doing a little shopping, and feeling sorry for myself, I guess. I couldn't buy the cocktail dress I had wanted, and would wear an 'old' dress to the party instead. My husband owned his own company then, and business had not been good that year. He felt like a failure, and I was frustrated that he had given all the employees a raise the year before, and yet we were struggling to maintain our current lifestyle. And our lifestyle was a struggle to maintain even in a good year." She smiled wryly. "We tended to live far beyond our means."
"Well," she continued, "as I was Christmas shopping I thought I'd take a peek at the jewelry counter, and I spotted a gold cloisonné bangle bracelet. Not solid gold, probably gold-plated, but with a lovely enameled design. It wasn't terribly expensive, maybe thirty dollars. I certainly didn't need it. But I felt like I needed it -- needed something new, just for me. I don't know how else to explain it. I just felt that I deserved that bracelet!
"And... Cheryl," she looked at me intensely, "I took the bracelet! Just slipped it on, and went about my shopping. I almost... almost... left the store with it on. The voice inside me kept saying, 'Joanna, this isn't like you! It isn't right!' But I kept it on, until my conscience got the better of me and I decided to put it back. As I was hanging it back on the display rack, I jumped at the sound of a man's voice. 'So, you decided against the bracelet?' A man in a brown jacket was suddenly standing right next to me. My nerves were completely rattled, but I tried to appear nonchalant as I asked, 'I beg your pardon?' And he answered, 'I noticed you are putting that bracelet back.'
"I tried to sound innocent, but was I stammering, 'Yes, well... I had tried it on, you see... and I forgot I was wearing it.' He gave me this look, this incriminating look, and said, 'Uh huh... well, I'm glad you remembered to put it back.'
"I was furious at his insinuation! Oh, I was indignant! As I turned to storm away, he repeated, 'Really, ma'am, I'm really glad you decided to put it back.' This time his voice was soft... forgiving. It was like he was looking directly into my soul.
"He must have worked for the store's security. He must have seen me take it! I was that close to being arrested for shoplifting!" She held her thumb and forefinger a quarter-inch apart. "And for what? A little bracelet!
"I don't even remember driving home, but when I got there, I just fell through the kitchen doorway and collapsed onto the floor. Just crumbled, my forehead on the floor, and kept saying 'Oh god, oh god, oh god.' Thinking over and over how I could have been arrested, how my reputation would have been ruined, how stupid I was, how angry I was at that security guy... and at myself. I was just shaking, shivering, repeating in disbelief, 'Oh god, oh god, oh god!'
"Then after five, maybe ten, minutes -- my words took on a different tone. 'Oh God!' My words became a cry to the Almighty. 'Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!' I was crying out for forgiveness, asking him to help erase my haughtiness, begging him to come and fill the void that I foolishly thought a new dress and jewelry might fill. But I think I knew, deep down, it wasn't about the bracelet. It was about so, so much more that was missing in my life! I promised him I'd change. I asked him to change me. I was so ashamed, and yet... an incredible feeling of relief flooded over me. I knew that I was forgiven. Forgiven, not just for the bracelet incident, but for all my sins. My cry became words of humility and gratitude. Words of praise! 'Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!'
"So..." she sighed, dropping her hands on her lap, "that's my Christmas story... not just because it happened at Christmastime, but because it's when Jesus came to me, like he came to the world at Christmas."
"Or maybe the day you came to him," I pondered quietly.
"Yes! Yes -- that's exactly how it was!" she exclaimed. "I came to him and made a promise, and accepted his promise. He saved me from... myself. Saved me from an empty life. I am so much more..." She searched for the word. "So much more... compassionate now. I realize that my weaknesses are no less sinful than those of others who have more 'obvious' faults. I'm not proud of my story, but I think it has a purpose. I don't know what you might want to do with it, but if you think it might help somebody, you can use it however you wish. Maybe you can find a way to make it seem... interesting."
"Oh, I think it's plenty interesting, Joanna," I said, giving her a hug. "And thank you for sharing your story. I know it will touch people's hearts."
It had already touched mine. It reminded me that we have a great God, who so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son. A Savior who came to us as a humble baby. Accessible, that we might come to him, to receive his promise: of forgiveness, of love, of eternity. Who hears us when we humbly cry out, "Oh God!"
If my people, who are called by my name, humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.... Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to the prayers offered... my eyes and my heart will always be there.
2 Chronicles 7:14-16 (paraphrased)
Cheryl Kirking weaves her unique blend of original songs, homespun humor, and personal anecdotes in family concerts, women's conferences, and speaking appearances throughout the United States. She has recorded six CDs on the Mill Pond Music label, and she is the author of the books Ripples of Joy; Teacher, You're an A+; and All Is Calm, All Is Bright: True Stories of Christmas. Visit her website at www.cherylkirking.com.
("Saved" was originally printed in All Is Calm, All Is Bright: True Stories of Christmas, published by Fleming H. Revell / Baker Books ©2001).
Good Stories
An Old Enemy
by Kendall Anderson
Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
Colossians 3:13-14
We met on a commercial flight between Minneapolis and Detroit sometime in the late 1950s. He was Oriental. It was almost 15 years after the war [World War II]. I don't remember his name, but I still have his business card somewhere in my desk. I'm not sure why I sat beside him. In those days the airlines still allowed you to pick your own seat. I could have sat with any number of people, or I could have sat by myself. For some reason, I chose to sit beside him.
The plane took off, and after we had been flying for a little while, I asked him if he was Japanese. He said yes. On an impulse I decided to tell him a story that I had just heard -- about a man who died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell. He decided to go to hell because he thought that was where his friends were most likely to be. When he arrived in hell he discovered that there was plenty of rice and other good things to eat, but everyone was starving because the chopsticks were all six feet long. He didn't like the looks of things in hell, so he asked if he could go to heaven instead. He was given permission to go, and when he arrived he discovered that everything was exactly the same, except in heaven they were feeding each other.
"Oh," said my companion, "you must be a Christian. I am, too."
He went on to tell that his mother was a Christian and that he had become a Christian after the war. I asked him what he had done during the war. He said that he had been a fighter pilot in the Southwest Pacific. I told him that I had been a fighter pilot, too, in the same area. We quickly compared notes and discovered that we had flown missions over Formosa at the same time. Neither of us said it aloud, but I'm sure it occurred to him, as it did to me, that had we met in the air during the war, we would have tried to kill each other.
We went on to talk about our work. He was serving on the economic Council of the United Nations as a representative of Japan. I thought about the great number of people throughout the world that he was able to help with his work, and me with mine, and it struck me what a great tragedy it would have been if one of us had killed the other.
When I got off the plane, I didn't hate the Japanese people anymore, and I knew the meaning of forgiveness.
Kendall W. Anderson is a graduate of Bangor Theological Seminary and served pastorates in New England and Wisconsin before retiring in 1984. He served as a pilot with the 39th Fighter Squadron in the Southwest Pacific in World War II. Write to Ken at Skylight Gardens #102, 501 First Street North, St. Cloud, MN 56303. Phone: 320-252-8090.
Scrap Pile
Christmas Communion
by John Sumwalt
A young woman drove a rented car slowly up a snow-covered mountain road on a cold Christmas Eve. She was going to see her father, whom she had not seen in twelve years. She had been sixteen when her father and mother divorced after his affair with a woman at work. Neither she nor her mother had ever been able to forgive him. The affair had not lasted and her father had soon given up his corporate job in an eastern city and moved to Colorado -- "to rest his weary soul in the solitude of the mountains" was what he had written in the first letter he sent after he left home. He had taken a job with the national park service for the summer and hoped he might find something at a ski resort in the winter. That was all she knew about his life for all of those years. Letters had come regularly from the same address in a town called Ward, and she had carefully saved each one, unopened, in a cookie tin on the back shelf of the large walk-in closet in the bedroom of her townhouse. She had done well for herself, ironically, in the same company that had once employed her father.
The last line of that one letter she had read flashed into her mind, as it had so many times before, as she saw the road sign for Ward with an arrow pointing to the right. "I hope you will be able to forgive me some day, Gracie. I love you."
Could she forgive him? Was that why she had come? Even after the long flight and the equally long drive from the airport on unfamiliar mountain roads, she still didn't know.
Grace and her mother had always spent Christmases together, vacationing in Florida or the Caribbean. It was a way of distracting themselves from what they had lost. Now that her mother was remarried there was no place to go. They had invited her for Christmas, her mother and Ted, but she hadn't wanted to intrude on their first holiday together. So, here she was on the road to Ward.
Grace could see the lights of the little town shimmering below her, shiny and yellow against the snow, like the gold that had once been mined from the mountain. She turned off the main highway and shifted into low gear. The road down to the village was steep and narrow and snow-covered. Sand had been spread on the curves, but she still had to go slow. She wondered in which of the thirty or forty houses and old miner's shacks she would find her father. She pulled up in front of the general store. The porch light was on and the door was open. A young woman about her own age, dressed in bib overalls with braided hair hanging down to her waist, was crocheting behind the counter near a small wood-burning stove. Candy bars, cigarettes, and several brands of cough medicine lined the shelves behind her. The woman smiled at Grace and said, "Good evening. What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for my father," Grace said. The plaintive tone of her own voice surprised her. She told the woman her father's name and immediately saw a knowing look of recognition. "Old Jim. He comes in here all the time. You must be Grace. He told me about you."
It seemed strange to hear her father called old. Grace remembered him as middle-aged. Of course he would be older now, in his late sixties. It pleased Grace to know he had spoken of her.
"Almost everybody is up at the church," the woman said. "I saw your dad go up about a half-hour ago. A retired preacher comes up from Nederbet every Christmas Eve. It's about the only time they have services here. You can leave your car out in front. It's easier to walk from here."
Grace slowly made her way over the footbridge spanning the ice-covered stream that wound through the center of the town. She could see the small clapboard church about 200 yards up the mountain. On top of the steeple there were green, blue, and red Christmas lights flashing in the form of a star. They appeared to be attached to the cross. Her hands trembled as she opened the door of the church. Would her father be glad to see her after all these years? Would he recognize her?
She spotted him, sitting by himself in one of the back pews. "Old Jim." The woman at the store was right. His hair was thin and completely gray. He was much heavier now. He looked tired, and, the thought pained her, very much alone.
The congregation stood up to sing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." The words of the familiar carol rang in her ears as she slipped into the pew beside her father. "Glory to the newborn King, Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled."
She squeezed her father's hand and a smile came over his face in the same instant he turned to see her. "Grace," he said, "I'm so glad to see you."
"Daddy," was all she was able to say.
When the preacher gave the invitation to come forward for Christmas communion, Grace and her father walked up the aisle hand in hand.
(This story came to John as a gift of the Spirit as he passed through Ward following a 1996 camping expedition in Rocky Mountain National Park with his brothers Alan and Bob, his son Orrin, and his nephews Nelson, Andrew, and Marshall. It originally appeared in the December 24, 2002 edition of StoryShare.)
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Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B
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StoryShare, December 28, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
