Mid-Cemetery
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Healing Touch of Life"
Good Stories: "Mid-Cemetery" by David O. Bales
"Touching Cloaks" by Betty Lynn Schwab
Sermon Starters: "Same Scene, Different Takes" by Terry Cain
"Better to Have Played and Gotten Hurt Than Never to Have Played at All"
What's Up This Week
This week's Gospel text interweaves the stories of two people desperate for Jesus' healing touch -- and this edition of StoryShare illustrates a variety of ways in which we can extend the touch of healing to one another. In A Story to Live By we learn the tragic consequences when the essential touch of parental nurture is denied, while in Good Stories we see examples of the healing touch in quiet understanding for a grieving widower and in the refreshing support that true friends can offer amidst our busy lives. In addition, we have a pair of thoughtful stories on this week's readings that will be excellent Sermon Starters.
A Story to Live By
The Healing Touch of Life
Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw [Jesus], fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live."
Mark 5:22-23
There's a famous story of Frederick the Great of Prussia -- a powerful ruler of the European Enlightenment, a man of impressive scientific curiosity as well as a leader of armies. Frederick once conducted an unusual scientific experiment into the development of human language. There was a theory of the time that the babbling of infants was in some unknown way related to the ancient language of Eden, but that children lost this oldest of all mother tongues as they grew and learned the language of their parents.
Frederick devised an experiment to test this theory. He had his scientists take some orphaned newborn babies and isolate them from all physical contact with human beings. The babies would be kept in separate rooms, with no contact with each other. Not a word of language was to be spoken in their presence. Specially trained nurses would see to the babies' physical needs, feeding them and making sure they stayed warm -- but they were forbidden to pick them up and embrace them. Once the children grew old enough to speak, they would be brought into the presence of the other children who were part of the experiment, to see if they could converse with one another.
The experiment was an utter failure. Not one of those poor children lived beyond infancy -- let alone to the age when language begins to develop in earnest. The one thing King Frederick learned from his cruel and ill-considered experiment was that the physical touch of another human being is essential to life. If babies are not picked up, and hugged, and caressed, they have but a slim chance of surviving to maturity.
(From Lectionary Preaching Workbook [Series VIII, Cycle B] by Carlos Wilton)
Good Stories
Mid-Cemetery
by David O. Bales
Then David took hold of his clothes and tore them; and all the men who were with him did the same. They mourned and wept, and fasted until evening...
2 Samuel 1:11-12a
Gene Marsden had remained at the grave until all other mourners were gone. He knew he had to leave. Yet he stayed as the cemetery workers lowered the casket and covered it with dirt. He knew he'd have to go home, but he insisted to the funeral director that he was all right and that he wanted to be here until all was done -- the canopy removed, and the fake grass rolled up and tossed with the folding chairs into the back of the sexton's yellow pick-up. He watched until the men were done and the new grave laid bumpy under the re-laid turf.
Staying made him feel no better. However, at least Gene was safe here from the friends who'd descended upon him in his grief and who, he was sure, awaited him at some well-meaning ambush. Immediately after Shirley died he hadn't been able to find the words to say to his friends. But by the time he finally formed his thoughts, he didn't have the emotional strength to tell them he didn't want their encouragement. He hurt too much to be consoled. In a seventh grade basketball game someone's elbow had landed square on top of his head and given him a slight concussion. He felt now as if he had a concussion.
He didn't need to hear suggestions that Shirley was in a better place. When Cherie talked to him, he felt like a refrigerator upon which she was attaching a sticky note with a clever saying. He dared not answer after Marty said that God needed Shirley in heaven. If Gene had spoken at that moment he would have ruined their friendship, because he definitely had negative things to say about a God who did such things.
For five days, silently defending himself as best he could, he'd carried on his life by habit and without tears. Habit for five days: Getting up in the morning at the same time, drinking coffee from the same cup, eating the same cereal, and exiting the empty house at 7:20 a.m.
Why not go to work? Nothing at home. Habit guided his Volkswagen to the office, parking in the same spot. Habit got him through the door and to his desk. Then by habit he punched numbers into the telephone and took the orders or answered the questions.
If he could have spoken of his grief, he'd only say, "I need to hurt." Nothing too complicated about that, except that he possessed the finest bunch of well-meaning friends that any new widower was ever burdened with.
He even hesitated now to leave the cemetery, although he'd been here for at least three hours and had begun to walk through the graves, coming back always to stare down at his muddy shoes beside the small, temporary marker: "Shirley Roberts Marsden." He didn't think about what her body looked like now. He kept himself from doing so. But he thought of how in the last month he'd often laid awake looking at her dark form in bed and he'd occasionally reached out to touch her face.
He'd have to abandon the cemetery soon, return home, and probably endure an evening of friends systematically checking in on him by phone. Then they'd hound him the next day with food to the door.
Now his fatigue seemed to leap upon him; suddenly he was so tired he could hardly walk. He turned toward the parking lot without looking first and saw, walking towards him, Pastor Mikowski. He couldn't avoid the pastor, nor did he know him well enough to ask to be alone. He was the pastor his friends recommended for the service. Although pastor Mik hadn't spoken long at the funeral, Gene didn't remember anything he'd said. Now, he felt defeated, unable even here to escape the do-gooders. He might as well meet Mik and take another verbal beating.
"Hello, Gene," Pastor Mik said.
"Hi."
"Stayed out here a long time, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Hard to leave, isn't it?"
"Uh," Gene said, meaning "yes," but unable to say more.
"Everybody's sorry we can't do more for you," Mik said, and then he just stood in front of Gene, saying nothing. Two men in suits, standing in the middle of the cemetery in the late afternoon, in silence. They stood with slumped shoulders, Gene facing slightly away from the pastor. Gene thought Mik would say more, but he didn't. Finally Gene said, "I hurt all over."
Mik nodded his head. They stood there for another five, maybe ten minutes. Gene said, "I miss her everywhere I turn."
Mik leaned closer to Gene and put his hand on his shoulder. Gene was not only exhausted, he was tired of standing in one position; but neither man moved, except for the tiny staccato motions convulsing around Gene's torso, and soon he heard within himself gurgling sounds, almost hiccups. And then he sobbed. Not a tear for five days, but now he was weeping almost more intensely than he could bear. Mik caught him as his knees gave out, held him tight, and didn't utter a word. Gene Marsden in his desperation began the loud part of his grieving in the arms of a man he hardly knew, but whose silence he trusted.
David O. Bales recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon. He is a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries, and is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS).
Touching Cloaks
by Betty Lynn Schwab
Mark 5:21-43
Beth found herself humming. It was always like this for her as she drove home after her get-together with Pam and Sue. Such a quiet little mystery! Six years now, and it was always like this as she drove home.
All day long -- all month too -- she had worked hard. Seeing Frank off to work and their four sons off to school, groceries bought, then down to the office -- check the fax, finish her report, and home again just in time to hear her sons' stories as they burst through the back door. She had cooked a good supper, too. Frank really enjoyed it! At least none of the boys had to go out tonight! Hockey, basketball, music lessons, and space club -- not one of them tonight: what a miracle. Frank was determined this would be Beth's night out. He cheerfully took on overseeing the clean-up, the homework and bedtime routine as soon as supper was through so she could leave.
What was it about these get-togethers? How did they weave their magic so well year after year? What made them special?
The get-togethers started with Pam's invitation to a cup of herb tea when Beth first moved in: a cup of tea just to get to know each other now that they were neighbors. Beth remembered Pam taking her coat that very first time and hanging it caringly in the closet. That is how it began. Then Pam eventually moved across the city, closer to the hospital where she was an administrator. The gathering-for-tea simply moved with Pam. In time Sue joined them; she had once been Pam's co-worker, but now was in nursing at another hospital.
Over the years the women gathered. They shared their joys and stresses. Beth's sons' colds that turned into pneumonia (what a scare!); Pam's struggles to deal with a boss who demanded more than her work (the creep! when he was fired they celebrated); Sue's long on-again, off-again courtship and marriage to Richard, then her divorce.
Sometimes a video or event would be their focus, but external topics were rare in their conversations.
"Funny!" Beth nodded, as if in disbelief. Month after month there was always something worthwhile to share from right within their own lives. Each of them hallowed that sharing. No gossip. No games. No posturing. Just seeking out each other, knowing they'd be there, then being with each other. Listening and supporting each other. Helping the other make her way through the good life they knew they all had.
How she cherished their time together: drawing on their strength, giving of her own to them even when she thought she had none left to give. The occasional muffin. Maybe a picnic. But always the get-together so mysteriously full of its life-restoring, life-giving power.
Thirty days of crowded living: lives filled with so many different people, events, and commitments all jostling rightfully for their attention. Then this one evening together, a brief moment to connect, to empower one another, and to draw peace from each other and just enough healing for the next 30 crowded days.
Beth found herself humming. It was always like this -- driving home from Pam's. Beth breathed a wee prayer -- once again -- of deep thanks.
Betty Lynn Schwab is an ordained United Church of Canada minister presently serving Meewasin Valley United Church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. Her CSS publications include The Carpenter's Child and Visions of Lent, a three-volume set of worship resources based on Jewish holidays.
Sermon Starters
Same Scene, Different Takes (Or Miscommunication at Table Six)
by Terry Cain
In this Sunday's Gospel passage (Mark 5:21-43), the disciples were surprised that Jesus could be sensitive to one person's touch (needs) out of a crowd pressing about him. The moral: As Christians we have many responsibilities, a very important one of which is trying our best to be alert and sensitive to people around us at all times. Let's examine a situation as seen through the eyes of three people.
Mary was excited about her new job, but she was very nervous as it was her first day as a waitress at the restaurant. She just knew she would mess up at some point by getting an order all wrong or dropping a plate on the floor. She was a worrier anyway, and so she was eager to get the anxiety of her first day on the job over with. However, she wasn't prepared for her first unfortunate experience.
She had only served four tables and everything seemed to be going all right until she passed by the first customers she had served that day at table six. As she was returning to the kitchen she overheard one of the two women at the table say, "How could a waitress be so stupid?"
Mary stopped behind the counter for a few moments, hoping that none of the other servers or customers saw the tears which welled up in her eyes. What had she done? What should she do? It was going to be so difficult for her to return to table six.
* * *
Lois and Jan were having a good visit over lunch. The conversation had turned to eating out and the favorite restaurants they enjoyed. Lois was sharing an experience she recently had at another restaurant where a waitress had been especially rude and some angry words had been exchanged. Lois went on to say, "Jan, I was so embarrassed. The place was full that day and here we were, the rude waitress and me, goin' at it. I hate not to go back there just because of one waitress, as I really enjoy that restaurant. But I am tempted not to go there again. How could a waitress be so stupid?"
* * *
While Lois was sharing this little episode, Jan was on alert to catch their waitress's eye to ask for a refill on her drink. She noticed their waitress, Mary, coming towards them on her way to the kitchen, but since her hands were full of dishes, Jan decided to wait until she returned.
Jan turned her full attention back to Lois's story, as Lois had just said, "I am tempted not to go there again." Mary was passing their table as Lois continued with, "How could a waitress be so stupid?"
All of a sudden Jan thought to herself, "Oh my, I wonder just what part of Lois's conversation our waitress overheard as she passed our table? It would be awkward to catch her attention and try to explain any misunderstanding, if it exists. Surely she would know we could be speaking about another situation. Yet she looks a little upset over there behind the counter. Should I say something to Lois about being careful that people don't overhear only a part of our conversation? Would she think I was correcting her and have her feelings hurt?"
Better to Have Played and Gotten Hurt Than Never to Have Played at All
by Terry Cain
Psalm 30; Psalm 130; Lamentations 3:23-33
Answering a knock on his door, pastor Carl found his neighbor on the front porch. "Hi, I'm Tom Custer from across the street and down on the corner. We haven't actually met before, but I'm told you are a minister," said his neighbor.
"Yes, I am pastor at First Presbyterian Church over on Orange Avenue. Sorry, I haven't gotten over to meet you yet. But I'm glad you stopped by. Come in, if you have a moment or two, and we can get acquainted."
"I would like to talk with you, Rev. Morey, if you have a minute." Tom seemed a little troubled and immediately began speaking about what was on his mind as they went into the living room. "I don't go to church anywhere, but I wanted to talk with someone who knows about religion and the Bible and things like that."
Pastor Carl encouraged him, saying, "I would be very happy to talk with you."
Tom unfolded his concern. "I have a good friend, Curtis, who lost his twin sister in a car accident recently, and he has been awfully upset. He has called me several times crying, and I have been unable to answer some of the questions he raises."
Carl inquired, "What are some of those questions?"
"Well, he says he has gone to the Bible and found many passages that tell us that God takes care of us. He says his sister was almost like a saint; why did God let her die? And when he prays it doesn't relieve his grief like the Bible says it should. When I suggested he go to a minister for counseling, he said he couldn't believe in God if he did such things and didn't answer prayer."
"To answer your second concern first," Carl said, "I would suggest that it may be your friend wasn't prepared for such tragedy. I don't know him, of course, but it could be that his prayer life or faith hasn't been nurtured to where it provides the strength he needs. You can imagine an athlete setting out to accomplish some goal such as running the mile without ever having trained. If that person got out on the track and ran a mile without prior conditioning, he might collapse on the ground. But after much training, he could successfully run a mile. However, now is not the time to tell your friend this; you must simply show him love and support. But there are some things you might share with him. God has created a world full of problems, obstacles, discomfort, illness, and pain as well as all the good things in order to provide contrast: there is no up without a down, no good without a bad, no hot without cold, no comfort without discomfort. This provides an opportunity to grow, to achieve goals, and solve problems -- all that we call maturing. A part of that process is freedom or free will. Without the freedom to make choices, we would be little puppets dancing on strings the way God dictates. We wouldn't be human or responsible adults without freedom to choose the good as well as the bad; choices that can hurt ourselves as well as others in a social world. There are natural problems in the world (hurricanes and disease) that happen randomly, and social problems (violence and greed) that we perpetrate. God doesn't cause these. They happen in a world of contrast and freedom that God created."
Tom said, "Wow, that is a lot to think about. But one particular thought my friend expressed was the fact that his sister was killed in the accident along with two other people, but one person survived with only minor injuries. He overheard someone say that the man upstairs was surely looking out for that person. My friend says God must have protected the one who survived, because otherwise she too would have been killed. And why would a good God choose one and not the others?"
Pastor Carl said, "While we can't understand everything, there are ways that explain some things for us. For example, if we drop a carton of eggs on the floor, some may break and others go undamaged. God did not decide the issue. It depended on how the carton hit the floor -- what part hit first and the location of the eggs that broke and those that didn't."
Tom replied, "I should get back home -- my wife will have dinner ready, but I would like to continue this conversation very soon. It has been very helpful."
"One more thought, Tom," Carl offered. "Several years ago at another church I served, one of the members would not let her son play ball or other games with the neighbor kids. She was so afraid he would get injured. He couldn't go anywhere without her, couldn't play on swings and slides, couldn't have a bicycle or any toys that she considered dangerous, which included most toys in her thinking. She walked her son to and from school and only reluctantly let him attend class. Her fear and need to protect him denied him much pleasure in life. She needed help to overcome her extreme obsession. God is not like that. We have freedom to be and to grow. I hope you do come back soon, Tom. I've enjoyed our visit."
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor, and the author of the CSS titles Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together.
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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 click here share-a-story@csspub.com and e-mail the story to us.
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StoryShare, July 2, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "The Healing Touch of Life"
Good Stories: "Mid-Cemetery" by David O. Bales
"Touching Cloaks" by Betty Lynn Schwab
Sermon Starters: "Same Scene, Different Takes" by Terry Cain
"Better to Have Played and Gotten Hurt Than Never to Have Played at All"
What's Up This Week
This week's Gospel text interweaves the stories of two people desperate for Jesus' healing touch -- and this edition of StoryShare illustrates a variety of ways in which we can extend the touch of healing to one another. In A Story to Live By we learn the tragic consequences when the essential touch of parental nurture is denied, while in Good Stories we see examples of the healing touch in quiet understanding for a grieving widower and in the refreshing support that true friends can offer amidst our busy lives. In addition, we have a pair of thoughtful stories on this week's readings that will be excellent Sermon Starters.
A Story to Live By
The Healing Touch of Life
Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw [Jesus], fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live."
Mark 5:22-23
There's a famous story of Frederick the Great of Prussia -- a powerful ruler of the European Enlightenment, a man of impressive scientific curiosity as well as a leader of armies. Frederick once conducted an unusual scientific experiment into the development of human language. There was a theory of the time that the babbling of infants was in some unknown way related to the ancient language of Eden, but that children lost this oldest of all mother tongues as they grew and learned the language of their parents.
Frederick devised an experiment to test this theory. He had his scientists take some orphaned newborn babies and isolate them from all physical contact with human beings. The babies would be kept in separate rooms, with no contact with each other. Not a word of language was to be spoken in their presence. Specially trained nurses would see to the babies' physical needs, feeding them and making sure they stayed warm -- but they were forbidden to pick them up and embrace them. Once the children grew old enough to speak, they would be brought into the presence of the other children who were part of the experiment, to see if they could converse with one another.
The experiment was an utter failure. Not one of those poor children lived beyond infancy -- let alone to the age when language begins to develop in earnest. The one thing King Frederick learned from his cruel and ill-considered experiment was that the physical touch of another human being is essential to life. If babies are not picked up, and hugged, and caressed, they have but a slim chance of surviving to maturity.
(From Lectionary Preaching Workbook [Series VIII, Cycle B] by Carlos Wilton)
Good Stories
Mid-Cemetery
by David O. Bales
Then David took hold of his clothes and tore them; and all the men who were with him did the same. They mourned and wept, and fasted until evening...
2 Samuel 1:11-12a
Gene Marsden had remained at the grave until all other mourners were gone. He knew he had to leave. Yet he stayed as the cemetery workers lowered the casket and covered it with dirt. He knew he'd have to go home, but he insisted to the funeral director that he was all right and that he wanted to be here until all was done -- the canopy removed, and the fake grass rolled up and tossed with the folding chairs into the back of the sexton's yellow pick-up. He watched until the men were done and the new grave laid bumpy under the re-laid turf.
Staying made him feel no better. However, at least Gene was safe here from the friends who'd descended upon him in his grief and who, he was sure, awaited him at some well-meaning ambush. Immediately after Shirley died he hadn't been able to find the words to say to his friends. But by the time he finally formed his thoughts, he didn't have the emotional strength to tell them he didn't want their encouragement. He hurt too much to be consoled. In a seventh grade basketball game someone's elbow had landed square on top of his head and given him a slight concussion. He felt now as if he had a concussion.
He didn't need to hear suggestions that Shirley was in a better place. When Cherie talked to him, he felt like a refrigerator upon which she was attaching a sticky note with a clever saying. He dared not answer after Marty said that God needed Shirley in heaven. If Gene had spoken at that moment he would have ruined their friendship, because he definitely had negative things to say about a God who did such things.
For five days, silently defending himself as best he could, he'd carried on his life by habit and without tears. Habit for five days: Getting up in the morning at the same time, drinking coffee from the same cup, eating the same cereal, and exiting the empty house at 7:20 a.m.
Why not go to work? Nothing at home. Habit guided his Volkswagen to the office, parking in the same spot. Habit got him through the door and to his desk. Then by habit he punched numbers into the telephone and took the orders or answered the questions.
If he could have spoken of his grief, he'd only say, "I need to hurt." Nothing too complicated about that, except that he possessed the finest bunch of well-meaning friends that any new widower was ever burdened with.
He even hesitated now to leave the cemetery, although he'd been here for at least three hours and had begun to walk through the graves, coming back always to stare down at his muddy shoes beside the small, temporary marker: "Shirley Roberts Marsden." He didn't think about what her body looked like now. He kept himself from doing so. But he thought of how in the last month he'd often laid awake looking at her dark form in bed and he'd occasionally reached out to touch her face.
He'd have to abandon the cemetery soon, return home, and probably endure an evening of friends systematically checking in on him by phone. Then they'd hound him the next day with food to the door.
Now his fatigue seemed to leap upon him; suddenly he was so tired he could hardly walk. He turned toward the parking lot without looking first and saw, walking towards him, Pastor Mikowski. He couldn't avoid the pastor, nor did he know him well enough to ask to be alone. He was the pastor his friends recommended for the service. Although pastor Mik hadn't spoken long at the funeral, Gene didn't remember anything he'd said. Now, he felt defeated, unable even here to escape the do-gooders. He might as well meet Mik and take another verbal beating.
"Hello, Gene," Pastor Mik said.
"Hi."
"Stayed out here a long time, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Hard to leave, isn't it?"
"Uh," Gene said, meaning "yes," but unable to say more.
"Everybody's sorry we can't do more for you," Mik said, and then he just stood in front of Gene, saying nothing. Two men in suits, standing in the middle of the cemetery in the late afternoon, in silence. They stood with slumped shoulders, Gene facing slightly away from the pastor. Gene thought Mik would say more, but he didn't. Finally Gene said, "I hurt all over."
Mik nodded his head. They stood there for another five, maybe ten minutes. Gene said, "I miss her everywhere I turn."
Mik leaned closer to Gene and put his hand on his shoulder. Gene was not only exhausted, he was tired of standing in one position; but neither man moved, except for the tiny staccato motions convulsing around Gene's torso, and soon he heard within himself gurgling sounds, almost hiccups. And then he sobbed. Not a tear for five days, but now he was weeping almost more intensely than he could bear. Mik caught him as his knees gave out, held him tight, and didn't utter a word. Gene Marsden in his desperation began the loud part of his grieving in the arms of a man he hardly knew, but whose silence he trusted.
David O. Bales recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon. He is a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries, and is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS).
Touching Cloaks
by Betty Lynn Schwab
Mark 5:21-43
Beth found herself humming. It was always like this for her as she drove home after her get-together with Pam and Sue. Such a quiet little mystery! Six years now, and it was always like this as she drove home.
All day long -- all month too -- she had worked hard. Seeing Frank off to work and their four sons off to school, groceries bought, then down to the office -- check the fax, finish her report, and home again just in time to hear her sons' stories as they burst through the back door. She had cooked a good supper, too. Frank really enjoyed it! At least none of the boys had to go out tonight! Hockey, basketball, music lessons, and space club -- not one of them tonight: what a miracle. Frank was determined this would be Beth's night out. He cheerfully took on overseeing the clean-up, the homework and bedtime routine as soon as supper was through so she could leave.
What was it about these get-togethers? How did they weave their magic so well year after year? What made them special?
The get-togethers started with Pam's invitation to a cup of herb tea when Beth first moved in: a cup of tea just to get to know each other now that they were neighbors. Beth remembered Pam taking her coat that very first time and hanging it caringly in the closet. That is how it began. Then Pam eventually moved across the city, closer to the hospital where she was an administrator. The gathering-for-tea simply moved with Pam. In time Sue joined them; she had once been Pam's co-worker, but now was in nursing at another hospital.
Over the years the women gathered. They shared their joys and stresses. Beth's sons' colds that turned into pneumonia (what a scare!); Pam's struggles to deal with a boss who demanded more than her work (the creep! when he was fired they celebrated); Sue's long on-again, off-again courtship and marriage to Richard, then her divorce.
Sometimes a video or event would be their focus, but external topics were rare in their conversations.
"Funny!" Beth nodded, as if in disbelief. Month after month there was always something worthwhile to share from right within their own lives. Each of them hallowed that sharing. No gossip. No games. No posturing. Just seeking out each other, knowing they'd be there, then being with each other. Listening and supporting each other. Helping the other make her way through the good life they knew they all had.
How she cherished their time together: drawing on their strength, giving of her own to them even when she thought she had none left to give. The occasional muffin. Maybe a picnic. But always the get-together so mysteriously full of its life-restoring, life-giving power.
Thirty days of crowded living: lives filled with so many different people, events, and commitments all jostling rightfully for their attention. Then this one evening together, a brief moment to connect, to empower one another, and to draw peace from each other and just enough healing for the next 30 crowded days.
Beth found herself humming. It was always like this -- driving home from Pam's. Beth breathed a wee prayer -- once again -- of deep thanks.
Betty Lynn Schwab is an ordained United Church of Canada minister presently serving Meewasin Valley United Church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. Her CSS publications include The Carpenter's Child and Visions of Lent, a three-volume set of worship resources based on Jewish holidays.
Sermon Starters
Same Scene, Different Takes (Or Miscommunication at Table Six)
by Terry Cain
In this Sunday's Gospel passage (Mark 5:21-43), the disciples were surprised that Jesus could be sensitive to one person's touch (needs) out of a crowd pressing about him. The moral: As Christians we have many responsibilities, a very important one of which is trying our best to be alert and sensitive to people around us at all times. Let's examine a situation as seen through the eyes of three people.
Mary was excited about her new job, but she was very nervous as it was her first day as a waitress at the restaurant. She just knew she would mess up at some point by getting an order all wrong or dropping a plate on the floor. She was a worrier anyway, and so she was eager to get the anxiety of her first day on the job over with. However, she wasn't prepared for her first unfortunate experience.
She had only served four tables and everything seemed to be going all right until she passed by the first customers she had served that day at table six. As she was returning to the kitchen she overheard one of the two women at the table say, "How could a waitress be so stupid?"
Mary stopped behind the counter for a few moments, hoping that none of the other servers or customers saw the tears which welled up in her eyes. What had she done? What should she do? It was going to be so difficult for her to return to table six.
* * *
Lois and Jan were having a good visit over lunch. The conversation had turned to eating out and the favorite restaurants they enjoyed. Lois was sharing an experience she recently had at another restaurant where a waitress had been especially rude and some angry words had been exchanged. Lois went on to say, "Jan, I was so embarrassed. The place was full that day and here we were, the rude waitress and me, goin' at it. I hate not to go back there just because of one waitress, as I really enjoy that restaurant. But I am tempted not to go there again. How could a waitress be so stupid?"
* * *
While Lois was sharing this little episode, Jan was on alert to catch their waitress's eye to ask for a refill on her drink. She noticed their waitress, Mary, coming towards them on her way to the kitchen, but since her hands were full of dishes, Jan decided to wait until she returned.
Jan turned her full attention back to Lois's story, as Lois had just said, "I am tempted not to go there again." Mary was passing their table as Lois continued with, "How could a waitress be so stupid?"
All of a sudden Jan thought to herself, "Oh my, I wonder just what part of Lois's conversation our waitress overheard as she passed our table? It would be awkward to catch her attention and try to explain any misunderstanding, if it exists. Surely she would know we could be speaking about another situation. Yet she looks a little upset over there behind the counter. Should I say something to Lois about being careful that people don't overhear only a part of our conversation? Would she think I was correcting her and have her feelings hurt?"
Better to Have Played and Gotten Hurt Than Never to Have Played at All
by Terry Cain
Psalm 30; Psalm 130; Lamentations 3:23-33
Answering a knock on his door, pastor Carl found his neighbor on the front porch. "Hi, I'm Tom Custer from across the street and down on the corner. We haven't actually met before, but I'm told you are a minister," said his neighbor.
"Yes, I am pastor at First Presbyterian Church over on Orange Avenue. Sorry, I haven't gotten over to meet you yet. But I'm glad you stopped by. Come in, if you have a moment or two, and we can get acquainted."
"I would like to talk with you, Rev. Morey, if you have a minute." Tom seemed a little troubled and immediately began speaking about what was on his mind as they went into the living room. "I don't go to church anywhere, but I wanted to talk with someone who knows about religion and the Bible and things like that."
Pastor Carl encouraged him, saying, "I would be very happy to talk with you."
Tom unfolded his concern. "I have a good friend, Curtis, who lost his twin sister in a car accident recently, and he has been awfully upset. He has called me several times crying, and I have been unable to answer some of the questions he raises."
Carl inquired, "What are some of those questions?"
"Well, he says he has gone to the Bible and found many passages that tell us that God takes care of us. He says his sister was almost like a saint; why did God let her die? And when he prays it doesn't relieve his grief like the Bible says it should. When I suggested he go to a minister for counseling, he said he couldn't believe in God if he did such things and didn't answer prayer."
"To answer your second concern first," Carl said, "I would suggest that it may be your friend wasn't prepared for such tragedy. I don't know him, of course, but it could be that his prayer life or faith hasn't been nurtured to where it provides the strength he needs. You can imagine an athlete setting out to accomplish some goal such as running the mile without ever having trained. If that person got out on the track and ran a mile without prior conditioning, he might collapse on the ground. But after much training, he could successfully run a mile. However, now is not the time to tell your friend this; you must simply show him love and support. But there are some things you might share with him. God has created a world full of problems, obstacles, discomfort, illness, and pain as well as all the good things in order to provide contrast: there is no up without a down, no good without a bad, no hot without cold, no comfort without discomfort. This provides an opportunity to grow, to achieve goals, and solve problems -- all that we call maturing. A part of that process is freedom or free will. Without the freedom to make choices, we would be little puppets dancing on strings the way God dictates. We wouldn't be human or responsible adults without freedom to choose the good as well as the bad; choices that can hurt ourselves as well as others in a social world. There are natural problems in the world (hurricanes and disease) that happen randomly, and social problems (violence and greed) that we perpetrate. God doesn't cause these. They happen in a world of contrast and freedom that God created."
Tom said, "Wow, that is a lot to think about. But one particular thought my friend expressed was the fact that his sister was killed in the accident along with two other people, but one person survived with only minor injuries. He overheard someone say that the man upstairs was surely looking out for that person. My friend says God must have protected the one who survived, because otherwise she too would have been killed. And why would a good God choose one and not the others?"
Pastor Carl said, "While we can't understand everything, there are ways that explain some things for us. For example, if we drop a carton of eggs on the floor, some may break and others go undamaged. God did not decide the issue. It depended on how the carton hit the floor -- what part hit first and the location of the eggs that broke and those that didn't."
Tom replied, "I should get back home -- my wife will have dinner ready, but I would like to continue this conversation very soon. It has been very helpful."
"One more thought, Tom," Carl offered. "Several years ago at another church I served, one of the members would not let her son play ball or other games with the neighbor kids. She was so afraid he would get injured. He couldn't go anywhere without her, couldn't play on swings and slides, couldn't have a bicycle or any toys that she considered dangerous, which included most toys in her thinking. She walked her son to and from school and only reluctantly let him attend class. Her fear and need to protect him denied him much pleasure in life. She needed help to overcome her extreme obsession. God is not like that. We have freedom to be and to grow. I hope you do come back soon, Tom. I've enjoyed our visit."
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor, and the author of the CSS titles Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together.
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StoryShare, July 2, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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