The Message Of A Joy-Filled Spirit
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Message of a Joy-Filled Spirit" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Is It Possible to Wonder Again?" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * *
The Message of a Joy-Filled Spirit
by Peter Andrew Smith
2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19
Pastor Kevin was late arriving at the church. A group of buskers had arrived in town earlier that week and every sidewalk was filled with performers singing, dancing, and telling stories. Surrounding them and the hat or bucket for people to drop in bills or change were crowds of locals and tourists stopping to take in the spectacle.
As he unlocked the doors of the church, Pastor Kevin muttered under his breath. He didn't begrudge anyone earning a living and he liked to see people using their God-given talents as much as anyone else. Yet the congestion in the downtown streets meant he was late for the very important Interchurch Conference Call that was scheduled to begin at any moment.
He was out of breath as he dialled the number and pushed opened the windows of his study. The cheering and noise from the streets flooded in and since he couldn't hear anything on the phone, Pastor Kevin reluctantly closed the windows in the stuffy room. He forced himself to focus on the discussion of the schedule for the upcoming evangelical rally that was being planned for the fall in the nearby city.
The telephone meeting was much like every other church meeting as there was a great deal of conversation and discussion and some good things were accomplished. Yet by the end of the two hours Pastor Kevin was hot, sweaty, and feeling annoyed at how the day was unfolding.
He opened the window in the hopes of finding a cool breeze and winced as the noise from outside filled the study and left him no room to think. He needed peace and quiet in order to write his sermon. He grabbed his papers and Bible and headed into the sanctuary. He came through the doorway to see a woman with brightly colored mismatched clothes standing in front of the altar throwing the offering plates toward the ceiling.
"What in Heaven's name is going on?" Pastor Kevin said.
The woman kept the plates up in the air as she looked over. "Sorry if I startled you, Pastor."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm juggling," she said. "I was trying to be quiet since I saw your door was closed."
"Why are you juggling?"
"Because I've got two left feet and can't dance like King David did." She smiled a toothy grin and started the plates spinning as she threw them. "But God has blessed me with hands that can juggle anything."
Pastor Kevin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why are you in my sanctuary juggling the offering plates?"
"I figured juggling the offering plates was better than using the flaming batons I have for my street performance." She tilted her head toward the bag sitting in the front pew. "I'm not much for words and can't carry a tune so whenever possible I find a church, go in, and juggle.
The woman pulled a cloth from her pocket and while still keeping the plates moving in a circle above her she wiped them until they shone. "When I juggle I think about all the things that have happened in the week, all the people I have met, my family who are living in different places, and I ask God to be with them and to help me before I go to the next town to perform."
As she spoke she caught and returned the swirling plates to their usual place on altar without making a sound. She then bowed to the altar, put the cloth back in her pocket, and smiled at Pastor Kevin.
"Thank you, Pastor for letting me pray in your church," she said. "Is there a box for donations or can I just leave it on the altar?"
"We don't charge people for coming into the church."
"Travelling around as I do, I don't always get to church on Sunday so when I pray I always make sure I tithe what God has blessed me with." She placed a wad of crumpled banknotes into the shining plates and shook his hand. "God bless you!"
Pastor Kevin felt a bit overwhelmed but managed to reply "God bless you as well" as she disappeared out the front door of the church. He walked over and saw his reflection in the gleaming plates and considered what he had just witnessed.
He sat down in the front pew, bowed his head in prayer for a few moments, and then pulled out his pad of paper and started to write his sermon for Sunday morning. A message of how the Holy Spirit can surprise us through the most unlikely people.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Is It Possible to Wonder Again?
by Lamar Massingill
Psalm 24
If I were to imagine what whoever wrote this psalm's inspiration was, the inspiration might have been when he was outdoors, perhaps standing at the edge of a sea with his eyes full of what I would only call wonder (vv. 1-2). It is very reminiscent for me and reminds me of those carefree times when I grew up on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
As a young boy, I was absolutely amazed by the creation around me. That's probably why I am golfer -- I love to be in the middle of God's miracle. I was always one to ask questions, according to my mother. One ordinary Sunday during those childhood times, my mother was my Sunday school teacher. The lesson was on Moses as he saw the bush that was burning but not consumed, and the words of God that Moses was to take his shoes off, as he was on holy ground. My questions were legion. My mother said that it was holy ground because God created it. Then she used the first couple of verses of this psalm: "The earth is the LORD'S and all that is in it, the world and all who dwell therein. For it is he who founded it upon the seas and made it firm upon the rivers of the deep." The psalmist was obviously filled with wonder! I asked that if God created the ground, then why don't we all take our shoes off? My mother had no answer for that one.
I frequently remember the young boy Massingill, always caught up with wide-eyed wonder, literally filled with awe. Such expression on the face of the youngster I was, wishing I could always keep whatever it was he had during those days. Sometimes now, as an adult, I am able to at least touch it again. During the times I think of the boy I remember myself being, I wonder why I (we?) cannot view life with such wonder anymore. It seems the older we get, the less we are able to view God's handiwork with such a face. Instead, many times I seem to view it with a face I have spent years arranging and rearranging; eyes which have seen so much bitterness and injustice that it would be difficult at best to capture the kind of wonder I remember seeing in my early youth, with my face plastered to the window asking why we don't all take our shoes off.
I thought of the boy Massingill again a few weeks ago flying home from Atlanta, Georgia, near midnight. I wondered at such majesty, such beauty: all the lights illumining the good earth that is God's handiwork, as if they cared to protect it in some way. I was also reminded of G.K. Chesterton's words: "The world does not lack for wonder, only a sense of wonder." I spent moments just gazing and remembering, with my own face plastered against an airline window somewhere between Atlanta and Jackson, Mississippi, feeling strangely like a kid again, and wondering why I didn't "see" in the same way more often.
Noticeably, any sense of the beauty of God's handiwork was absent in the faces and eyes sitting around me, as it had been in mine more times than I cared to admit. As I grieved our common loss, I settled back in my seat, knocked on the door of my reflective property, and for the remainder of the flight, slipped into the solitude of the inquisitive.
My questions were of grace and disgrace and ease and dis/ease. I asked them with an acute sense that somewhere along the way, we've exchanged human eyes for glass eyes; the spiritual for the superficial. They were also penetrating: Living my life in a technological wonderland where nearly anything seems possible. Is there any reality in my commonness that is capable of surprising and inviting me into the wonder/full without having to be intensely sensational? If so, am I responsible for the view? What enables me to feel God's breath in the cool of a fall wind? Or God's body in the texture of the sweet earth? What enables me to hear the mysterious way the waves roll on and off the coast, sounding like the whole creation is inhaling and exhaling, and not have to ask how it is, but simply that it is? What expectations are formed as a result of living in a society which is, at bottom, informed by the technological myth? How powerful are these expectations as they shape my experience? How is it I sit so bored riding a machine 30,000 feet in the air, reading a book, and having a drink, for goodness sakes? Have I lost the ability to wonder? To see things beyond the tangible? Can the creation once again become a source of grace? Can it become a sacrament?
We landed in Jackson, but I landed on no answers to these questions, and the discomfort of them has accompanied me to this day. I have definitely come to one conclusion: technology will not allow me to be personable (able to be a person) unless I use it as a means to an end, and not the end itself. We all came out of the womb of God's wonder, mystery, generosity, and handiwork -- all those things for which there is no speech or language to describe.
One thing I have learned and recovered to some extent from the boy Massingill: If we view God's creation with bland neutrality, we will not know God's abundance, and we will allow technology to rob us of what it cannot provide: love, touch, relationships, feeling, peace, and joy... and wonder.
When we are able to see sacred drama in the ordinary delights of daily color, form, and human contact, when we can hear eternity in a mockingbird's song, or even in the reckless laughter of a child, when we can feel God's body in something as simple as a handful of sand or the way a rose feels soft against our hand as well as the wonderful scent that fills our nostrils, then we will touch the wonder of the Great Generosity whose creation we enjoy. There is generous growth in wonder. We are tidbits of the cosmic happening; children of God created with the senses necessary to enjoy the beautiful gifts of his world. Why not slow down and begin now?
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 15, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"The Message of a Joy-Filled Spirit" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Is It Possible to Wonder Again?" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * *
The Message of a Joy-Filled Spirit
by Peter Andrew Smith
2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19
Pastor Kevin was late arriving at the church. A group of buskers had arrived in town earlier that week and every sidewalk was filled with performers singing, dancing, and telling stories. Surrounding them and the hat or bucket for people to drop in bills or change were crowds of locals and tourists stopping to take in the spectacle.
As he unlocked the doors of the church, Pastor Kevin muttered under his breath. He didn't begrudge anyone earning a living and he liked to see people using their God-given talents as much as anyone else. Yet the congestion in the downtown streets meant he was late for the very important Interchurch Conference Call that was scheduled to begin at any moment.
He was out of breath as he dialled the number and pushed opened the windows of his study. The cheering and noise from the streets flooded in and since he couldn't hear anything on the phone, Pastor Kevin reluctantly closed the windows in the stuffy room. He forced himself to focus on the discussion of the schedule for the upcoming evangelical rally that was being planned for the fall in the nearby city.
The telephone meeting was much like every other church meeting as there was a great deal of conversation and discussion and some good things were accomplished. Yet by the end of the two hours Pastor Kevin was hot, sweaty, and feeling annoyed at how the day was unfolding.
He opened the window in the hopes of finding a cool breeze and winced as the noise from outside filled the study and left him no room to think. He needed peace and quiet in order to write his sermon. He grabbed his papers and Bible and headed into the sanctuary. He came through the doorway to see a woman with brightly colored mismatched clothes standing in front of the altar throwing the offering plates toward the ceiling.
"What in Heaven's name is going on?" Pastor Kevin said.
The woman kept the plates up in the air as she looked over. "Sorry if I startled you, Pastor."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm juggling," she said. "I was trying to be quiet since I saw your door was closed."
"Why are you juggling?"
"Because I've got two left feet and can't dance like King David did." She smiled a toothy grin and started the plates spinning as she threw them. "But God has blessed me with hands that can juggle anything."
Pastor Kevin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why are you in my sanctuary juggling the offering plates?"
"I figured juggling the offering plates was better than using the flaming batons I have for my street performance." She tilted her head toward the bag sitting in the front pew. "I'm not much for words and can't carry a tune so whenever possible I find a church, go in, and juggle.
The woman pulled a cloth from her pocket and while still keeping the plates moving in a circle above her she wiped them until they shone. "When I juggle I think about all the things that have happened in the week, all the people I have met, my family who are living in different places, and I ask God to be with them and to help me before I go to the next town to perform."
As she spoke she caught and returned the swirling plates to their usual place on altar without making a sound. She then bowed to the altar, put the cloth back in her pocket, and smiled at Pastor Kevin.
"Thank you, Pastor for letting me pray in your church," she said. "Is there a box for donations or can I just leave it on the altar?"
"We don't charge people for coming into the church."
"Travelling around as I do, I don't always get to church on Sunday so when I pray I always make sure I tithe what God has blessed me with." She placed a wad of crumpled banknotes into the shining plates and shook his hand. "God bless you!"
Pastor Kevin felt a bit overwhelmed but managed to reply "God bless you as well" as she disappeared out the front door of the church. He walked over and saw his reflection in the gleaming plates and considered what he had just witnessed.
He sat down in the front pew, bowed his head in prayer for a few moments, and then pulled out his pad of paper and started to write his sermon for Sunday morning. A message of how the Holy Spirit can surprise us through the most unlikely people.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Is It Possible to Wonder Again?
by Lamar Massingill
Psalm 24
If I were to imagine what whoever wrote this psalm's inspiration was, the inspiration might have been when he was outdoors, perhaps standing at the edge of a sea with his eyes full of what I would only call wonder (vv. 1-2). It is very reminiscent for me and reminds me of those carefree times when I grew up on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico.
As a young boy, I was absolutely amazed by the creation around me. That's probably why I am golfer -- I love to be in the middle of God's miracle. I was always one to ask questions, according to my mother. One ordinary Sunday during those childhood times, my mother was my Sunday school teacher. The lesson was on Moses as he saw the bush that was burning but not consumed, and the words of God that Moses was to take his shoes off, as he was on holy ground. My questions were legion. My mother said that it was holy ground because God created it. Then she used the first couple of verses of this psalm: "The earth is the LORD'S and all that is in it, the world and all who dwell therein. For it is he who founded it upon the seas and made it firm upon the rivers of the deep." The psalmist was obviously filled with wonder! I asked that if God created the ground, then why don't we all take our shoes off? My mother had no answer for that one.
I frequently remember the young boy Massingill, always caught up with wide-eyed wonder, literally filled with awe. Such expression on the face of the youngster I was, wishing I could always keep whatever it was he had during those days. Sometimes now, as an adult, I am able to at least touch it again. During the times I think of the boy I remember myself being, I wonder why I (we?) cannot view life with such wonder anymore. It seems the older we get, the less we are able to view God's handiwork with such a face. Instead, many times I seem to view it with a face I have spent years arranging and rearranging; eyes which have seen so much bitterness and injustice that it would be difficult at best to capture the kind of wonder I remember seeing in my early youth, with my face plastered to the window asking why we don't all take our shoes off.
I thought of the boy Massingill again a few weeks ago flying home from Atlanta, Georgia, near midnight. I wondered at such majesty, such beauty: all the lights illumining the good earth that is God's handiwork, as if they cared to protect it in some way. I was also reminded of G.K. Chesterton's words: "The world does not lack for wonder, only a sense of wonder." I spent moments just gazing and remembering, with my own face plastered against an airline window somewhere between Atlanta and Jackson, Mississippi, feeling strangely like a kid again, and wondering why I didn't "see" in the same way more often.
Noticeably, any sense of the beauty of God's handiwork was absent in the faces and eyes sitting around me, as it had been in mine more times than I cared to admit. As I grieved our common loss, I settled back in my seat, knocked on the door of my reflective property, and for the remainder of the flight, slipped into the solitude of the inquisitive.
My questions were of grace and disgrace and ease and dis/ease. I asked them with an acute sense that somewhere along the way, we've exchanged human eyes for glass eyes; the spiritual for the superficial. They were also penetrating: Living my life in a technological wonderland where nearly anything seems possible. Is there any reality in my commonness that is capable of surprising and inviting me into the wonder/full without having to be intensely sensational? If so, am I responsible for the view? What enables me to feel God's breath in the cool of a fall wind? Or God's body in the texture of the sweet earth? What enables me to hear the mysterious way the waves roll on and off the coast, sounding like the whole creation is inhaling and exhaling, and not have to ask how it is, but simply that it is? What expectations are formed as a result of living in a society which is, at bottom, informed by the technological myth? How powerful are these expectations as they shape my experience? How is it I sit so bored riding a machine 30,000 feet in the air, reading a book, and having a drink, for goodness sakes? Have I lost the ability to wonder? To see things beyond the tangible? Can the creation once again become a source of grace? Can it become a sacrament?
We landed in Jackson, but I landed on no answers to these questions, and the discomfort of them has accompanied me to this day. I have definitely come to one conclusion: technology will not allow me to be personable (able to be a person) unless I use it as a means to an end, and not the end itself. We all came out of the womb of God's wonder, mystery, generosity, and handiwork -- all those things for which there is no speech or language to describe.
One thing I have learned and recovered to some extent from the boy Massingill: If we view God's creation with bland neutrality, we will not know God's abundance, and we will allow technology to rob us of what it cannot provide: love, touch, relationships, feeling, peace, and joy... and wonder.
When we are able to see sacred drama in the ordinary delights of daily color, form, and human contact, when we can hear eternity in a mockingbird's song, or even in the reckless laughter of a child, when we can feel God's body in something as simple as a handful of sand or the way a rose feels soft against our hand as well as the wonderful scent that fills our nostrils, then we will touch the wonder of the Great Generosity whose creation we enjoy. There is generous growth in wonder. We are tidbits of the cosmic happening; children of God created with the senses necessary to enjoy the beautiful gifts of his world. Why not slow down and begin now?
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
*****************************************
StoryShare, July 15, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
