Monday Night Dissipation
Stories
Object:
Monday Night Dissipation
by John Sumwalt
We begin the season of Advent with some apocalyptic stories. "Be alert," Jesus says, "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catches you unexpectedly, like a trap" (Luke 21:34). We all know about drunkenness and the worries of life, but what of dissipation? I had to look up the meaning in the dictionary. I found that it has to do with "wasting by misuse, extravagant intemperance, dissolute pleasure, a process in which energy is used or lost without accomplishing useful work." That describes some of my college days and a recent extravagant night that I will never forget.
Someone in the church gave us tickets to a Monday night football game at Lambeau Field in Green Bay, a rare treat for a Packer fan who always works on Sunday and has never had an opportunity to go to Wisconsin's renowned football shrine. The newly renovated, $295 million Lambeau Field shone like a jewel against the night sky. The roar of 72,275 fans as the Pack came onto the field gave me chills. It was a thrill to see my beloved Packers in person, even on a rainy night in a sloppily played game that they lost on the last play when the great Brett Favre fumbled the ball. We were high and dry with 24 other dissipaters in a glass-enclosed booth, with enough food and drink to feed a small town in Haiti for a month. Near the end of the third quarter the dessert carts came around to serve all 6,046 of "us" in the 166 beautifully appointed luxury boxes. There was carrot cake to die for (or from), a variety of chocolate pies and custards, and many other confections the like of which I have never seen or dreamed. A kind, drunken fan dressed in full Packer green and gold regalia gave us directions out of the parking area after the game. We passed a sea of revelers still eating brats, drinking, and trying to swallow the bitterness of another lost game.
The luxury box tickets were a gift of love that warmed our hearts. We had a wonderful time, and yes, I would probably go again. I do enjoy watching football, and it is so much better to be there than to watch on TV, but I don't know how I will justify it when I "stand before the Son of Man."
**************
Be Alert at All Times
The constant anxiety some people have about life reminds me of a story that Mark Twain once told about a friend of his who came to him at the races one day and said, "I'm broke. I wish you'd buy me a ticket back to town."
Twain said, "Well, I'm pretty broke myself, but I'll tell you what to do. You hide under my seat and I'll cover you with my legs."
It was agreed and Twain then went to the ticket office and bought two tickets, without saying anything to his friend. When the train was under way and the supposed stowaway was snug under the seat, the conductor came by and Twain gave him the two tickets.
"Where is the other passenger?" asked the conductor.
Twain tapped on his forehead and said in a loud voice, "That is my friend's ticket. He is a little eccentric and likes to ride under the seat."
Many of us spend our lives hiding under the seat when we could sit out in the open and enjoy the fresh air...
Good Stories
Like a Butterfly, the Kingdom Is Born
"People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see the 'Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory."
Luke 21:26-27
A monk found the cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared, and he sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and could go no farther. The monk decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily, but it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.
The monk continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that at any moment the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time.
Neither happened!
In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. Although the monk took very good care of the butterfly for all of its days, it was never able to fly.
What the monk in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings, so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Freedom and flight could only come after a struggle.
Shining Moments
Hometown Apocalypse
by John Sumwalt
"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken."
Luke 21:25-26
When I was growing up there was a boy in our church, several years older than me, who was a favorite of all the children, and I think the adults too. His name was Joe Hanko. Everyone called him Joey. Joey always had a smile for everyone. He was good to us little kids. He loved to give piggyback rides and play softball with us behind the church. Joey was never mean to us in any way, as big boys can sometimes be. If anyone would have asked us, "Which student in your Sunday school best exemplifies the teachings of Jesus?" everyone would have pointed to Joey.
The same attitude prevailed among his classmates and teachers in the high school where he attended. On class night in his senior year, Joey received the four-year good citizen award for the Weston High School Class of 1963. The teachers said later that when it came time to take the vote, it was unanimous; everyone said it had to be Joe Hanko.
Joe was a good student, excelling in English. His teachers often commented on his stories and poems. But the academic life was not for him. His friends used to say that Joe was a farmer inside and out, and that is what he planned to do after graduation.
Joe was also mechanically inclined, and was especially good at making things that were useful on the farm. I remember one occasion when our family visited the Hanko farm for some kind of Sunday afternoon gathering. Joe took us kids out to the machine shed to see the model farm he had designed. It was complete with all of the buildings, a tin roof for the barn, and a round silo made with real cement that Joe had mixed himself. Then he showed us something that I will never forget. It was a farm kid's dream: a toy hay baler he had made with his own hands that actually baled hay like a real baler.
When Joe graduated from high school in late May of the next spring, everyone in our little community rejoiced with his family. We were all proud of Joe. We knew he was a young man who was going to go far.
About three weeks later, a neighbor stopped by after morning chores, and before he had even gotten out of the car he said, "Did you hear about Joey Hanko? He drowned last night up at Lee Lake." He told us that Joe and some friends had decided to go for a swim after haying all day. Joe developed a cramp and went under before anyone could reach him. They dived and dived, but didn't find him until it was too late.
The whole community was in shock. No one could believe it. For his family and all of us who loved him, it felt like the end of the world. The story of the drowning was recounted again and again. Everyone wondered how it could have happened to such a strong boy and good swimmer like Joe. Could anything have been done to prevent it? Did they eat before they went in? Who called the sheriff's office? How long did it take for the ambulance to arrive? Every detail was weighed and examined. It was a way of coming to grips with a horrible reality. One of the best and most loved among us was dead.
I remember that one could still see the shock etched on people's faces as they came soberly into the church on the day of the funeral. Joe's family appeared almost numb, their faces drained of all color. They leaned on each other as they made their way up the aisle to the row of folding chairs that had been set up in front of the first pew. The church was packed. Every seat was taken, and people were standing in the back of the sanctuary and in the side annex which was opened up for just such occasions. Outside, cars were parked tightly in front of and behind the church. And across the state highway that runs through the village, they were lined up bumper to bumper all the way around the block on both sides of the street.
I don't remember anything about the service except that about halfway through a great storm struck. It was one of those fierce summer thunderstorms that comes up suddenly without warning. The sky turned black; the wind roared and whistled, and very soon after it started, the electricity went off so that the church was almost completely dark. There were several lightning strikes apparently very near the church, judging by how quickly they were followed by cracking thunder which shook the building like a sonic boom. This all happened in a matter of minutes, and then the rain came in torrents. It was like a dam burst in the heavens and let a great flood of waters pour down on the roof of our little church.
It stopped as suddenly as it began. A calm followed, a holy stillness, like the peace that comes to one in the midst of grief when there are no more tears to be shed. The storm had vented the outrage that we all felt at this brutal assault on our happy existence.
When we went outside after the service, we were startled to discover that the giant cottonwood tree across the highway from the church had been blown over during the storm and had smashed two cars parked beneath it. But that was only a small sample of the storm's devastation. Upon our return to the farm, we found acre after acre of corn and oats flattened by the wind. Part of the roof was gone from the barn, and in the woods several large trees had been uprooted. The storm had left a mark on our world that would last for a long time to come.
The Hanko family was in church the following Sunday, in their usual pew. I don't know how. I don't know if I would have been able to come, but they were there that Sunday and every Sunday after to take their places among the faithful in Christ's church.
Scrap Pile
Love Lifted Me
by John Sumwalt
How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you? Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face and restore whatever is lacking in your faith. Now may our God and Father himself and our Lord Jesus direct our way to you. And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
This is the old green hymnal from my home church. The cover reads "Tabernacle Hymns, Number 4, Evangelical United Brethren Church, Loyd, Wisconsin." It was published in 1951, the year I was born. An old address label with my father's name, Leonard Sumwalt, is attached on the inside of the cover.
Of all the things my Dad left our family, this is what I cherish most. I enjoy playing with the lawn tractor and the chainsaw he left at the farm, but long after they are broken and rusted away, I will be singing these songs:
"In My Heart There Rings a Melody"
"When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder"
"The Old Rugged Cross"
"What a Friend We Have in Jesus"
"In the Garden"
"Softly and Tenderly"
"I Surrender All"
Do you know some of these old Gospel hymns?
We sang many of these hymns at my father's bedside before he passed over. We were with him for six days, and the first day he sang with us. And when he could sing no more, we sang for him.
One of Dad's favorite hymns in this book, and the hymn that came to mind as I studied this passage from 1 Thessalonians this week, was "Love Lifted Me":
Love lifted me!
Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
This, I imagine, is what Paul's letter did for the new Christians in Thessalonica.
Paul says, "How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?" Love lifts!
My Aunt Hazel just moved back home to Indiana after 49 years in Wisconsin. She came here because she married my Uncle Don, who was a United Methodist pastor in the Wisconsin Conference of the United Methodist Church. In 40 years of ministry, they lived all over the state: Ash Creek, Webster, Markesan, Juda, Chippewa Falls. Uncle Don died of cancer 15 years ago.
Yesterday we received a Christmas card from Aunt Hazel telling us how much she misses all of us in Wisconsin, and she concludes, "I'm so proud of you. I love you." Her letters always warm my heart. Aunt Hazel is a lover: one of God's own earth angels who finds numerous ways to nurture people with kindness and love.
This is what Paul was doing for the Thessalonian church -- sending a letter of encouragement -- a letter filled with his love.
You have received letters like this, and birthday cards and Christmas cards. These are the kind of letters you save so you can take them out on a rainy day and be lifted again. Love picks up, lifts. This is what we do for each other in the church. God comes to us in these good souls on earth and in heaven who nurture us with love, in person and from far away.
Paul says, "Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face...."
It has been my privilege as a pastor in this congregation to know many faithful souls like that: longtime members who loved God and loved the people of this church with all of their hearts. Fifteen of these souls have moved on to the next stage of their eternal life in the past year. Now they pray for us. They surround us with love and light, and in some ways are nearer to us now than they were in this life, helping us to remember: love lifts, God is with us.
"[M]ay the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all... that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all of his saints," Paul prays.
Eddie Ensley writes in his wonderful book Visions: The Soul's Path to the Sacred (Chicago: Loyola Press, 2000) of a time in his life when a debilitating illness nearly drove him to despair. He prayed constantly to God for relief and healing, and one night Christ came in a dream:
Christ put out his hands, palms facing upwards, and gestured for me to put my palms in his. Contentment and peace flowed from those hands to mine, passing through my hands to my arms and my whole being. His touch, firm and persuasive, invited my returning love. (p. 100)
On another night during this same period, in the midst of a similar vision, Eddie tells:
Even then I knew... that my difficulties would still face me after the vision ceased. So I asked the sender of the light, who is light beyond light, a question. I asked without words, in the heart's language. "Will you show me the way to be whole, will you make it all right?" I was met with silence. I asked more strongly, and again, the answer I received was silence. I rested there, near suspended, enveloped in light. "Help me," I begged, "to wake up in the morning and be whole." After a long pause, the answer came in the wordless language of the heart: "I love you." "Promise me," I begged, "that everything will be OK tomorrow." Another long pause, and then: "I love you." I asked yet again. This time the answer changed: "I love you and you are lovable." But still I asked, "Please heal me; make me whole." ...[A] somewhat playful answer came... "I see myself in your eyes, and you are beautiful." ...[T]hen something happened that I cannot find words or sounds or pictures to describe. All I can say is that I walked into the light, walked just a little bit into eternity, and the light shimmered and I shimmered in it. (p. 102)
Love lifted me!
Will you join me in singing these words?
I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore,
very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more;
then the master of the sea heard my despairing cry,
from the waters lifted me, now safe am I.
(chorus)
All my heart to him I give, ever to him I'll cling,
in his blessed presence live, ever his praises sing.
Love so mighty and so true merits my soul's best songs,
faithful, loving service too, to him belongs.
(chorus)
Souls in danger look above, Jesus completely saves;
he will save you by his love out of the angry waves.
He's the master of the sea, billows his will obey;
he your savior wants to be -- be saved today.
(chorus)
(Chorus)
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help, love lifted me.
(James Rowe, Howard Smith, 1939, Tabernacle Hymns, 1951)
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, December 2, 2000.
**************
An Invitation to Send Stories and Sermons
We are collecting personal stories for a third volume in the vision series, to be released in 2004. The working title is Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives. If you have any stories to share of your personal experience of the holy, please send them to jsumwalt@naspa.net. We are also looking for short fiction (parables) and personal experience stories of God's grace and presence for StoryShare. Do you have an old sermon that contains a good story or joke? Take a moment and send it today.
**************
StoryShare, November 30, 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.
by John Sumwalt
We begin the season of Advent with some apocalyptic stories. "Be alert," Jesus says, "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catches you unexpectedly, like a trap" (Luke 21:34). We all know about drunkenness and the worries of life, but what of dissipation? I had to look up the meaning in the dictionary. I found that it has to do with "wasting by misuse, extravagant intemperance, dissolute pleasure, a process in which energy is used or lost without accomplishing useful work." That describes some of my college days and a recent extravagant night that I will never forget.
Someone in the church gave us tickets to a Monday night football game at Lambeau Field in Green Bay, a rare treat for a Packer fan who always works on Sunday and has never had an opportunity to go to Wisconsin's renowned football shrine. The newly renovated, $295 million Lambeau Field shone like a jewel against the night sky. The roar of 72,275 fans as the Pack came onto the field gave me chills. It was a thrill to see my beloved Packers in person, even on a rainy night in a sloppily played game that they lost on the last play when the great Brett Favre fumbled the ball. We were high and dry with 24 other dissipaters in a glass-enclosed booth, with enough food and drink to feed a small town in Haiti for a month. Near the end of the third quarter the dessert carts came around to serve all 6,046 of "us" in the 166 beautifully appointed luxury boxes. There was carrot cake to die for (or from), a variety of chocolate pies and custards, and many other confections the like of which I have never seen or dreamed. A kind, drunken fan dressed in full Packer green and gold regalia gave us directions out of the parking area after the game. We passed a sea of revelers still eating brats, drinking, and trying to swallow the bitterness of another lost game.
The luxury box tickets were a gift of love that warmed our hearts. We had a wonderful time, and yes, I would probably go again. I do enjoy watching football, and it is so much better to be there than to watch on TV, but I don't know how I will justify it when I "stand before the Son of Man."
**************
Be Alert at All Times
The constant anxiety some people have about life reminds me of a story that Mark Twain once told about a friend of his who came to him at the races one day and said, "I'm broke. I wish you'd buy me a ticket back to town."
Twain said, "Well, I'm pretty broke myself, but I'll tell you what to do. You hide under my seat and I'll cover you with my legs."
It was agreed and Twain then went to the ticket office and bought two tickets, without saying anything to his friend. When the train was under way and the supposed stowaway was snug under the seat, the conductor came by and Twain gave him the two tickets.
"Where is the other passenger?" asked the conductor.
Twain tapped on his forehead and said in a loud voice, "That is my friend's ticket. He is a little eccentric and likes to ride under the seat."
Many of us spend our lives hiding under the seat when we could sit out in the open and enjoy the fresh air...
Good Stories
Like a Butterfly, the Kingdom Is Born
"People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see the 'Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory."
Luke 21:26-27
A monk found the cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared, and he sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and could go no farther. The monk decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily, but it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.
The monk continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that at any moment the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time.
Neither happened!
In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. Although the monk took very good care of the butterfly for all of its days, it was never able to fly.
What the monk in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings, so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Freedom and flight could only come after a struggle.
Shining Moments
Hometown Apocalypse
by John Sumwalt
"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken."
Luke 21:25-26
When I was growing up there was a boy in our church, several years older than me, who was a favorite of all the children, and I think the adults too. His name was Joe Hanko. Everyone called him Joey. Joey always had a smile for everyone. He was good to us little kids. He loved to give piggyback rides and play softball with us behind the church. Joey was never mean to us in any way, as big boys can sometimes be. If anyone would have asked us, "Which student in your Sunday school best exemplifies the teachings of Jesus?" everyone would have pointed to Joey.
The same attitude prevailed among his classmates and teachers in the high school where he attended. On class night in his senior year, Joey received the four-year good citizen award for the Weston High School Class of 1963. The teachers said later that when it came time to take the vote, it was unanimous; everyone said it had to be Joe Hanko.
Joe was a good student, excelling in English. His teachers often commented on his stories and poems. But the academic life was not for him. His friends used to say that Joe was a farmer inside and out, and that is what he planned to do after graduation.
Joe was also mechanically inclined, and was especially good at making things that were useful on the farm. I remember one occasion when our family visited the Hanko farm for some kind of Sunday afternoon gathering. Joe took us kids out to the machine shed to see the model farm he had designed. It was complete with all of the buildings, a tin roof for the barn, and a round silo made with real cement that Joe had mixed himself. Then he showed us something that I will never forget. It was a farm kid's dream: a toy hay baler he had made with his own hands that actually baled hay like a real baler.
When Joe graduated from high school in late May of the next spring, everyone in our little community rejoiced with his family. We were all proud of Joe. We knew he was a young man who was going to go far.
About three weeks later, a neighbor stopped by after morning chores, and before he had even gotten out of the car he said, "Did you hear about Joey Hanko? He drowned last night up at Lee Lake." He told us that Joe and some friends had decided to go for a swim after haying all day. Joe developed a cramp and went under before anyone could reach him. They dived and dived, but didn't find him until it was too late.
The whole community was in shock. No one could believe it. For his family and all of us who loved him, it felt like the end of the world. The story of the drowning was recounted again and again. Everyone wondered how it could have happened to such a strong boy and good swimmer like Joe. Could anything have been done to prevent it? Did they eat before they went in? Who called the sheriff's office? How long did it take for the ambulance to arrive? Every detail was weighed and examined. It was a way of coming to grips with a horrible reality. One of the best and most loved among us was dead.
I remember that one could still see the shock etched on people's faces as they came soberly into the church on the day of the funeral. Joe's family appeared almost numb, their faces drained of all color. They leaned on each other as they made their way up the aisle to the row of folding chairs that had been set up in front of the first pew. The church was packed. Every seat was taken, and people were standing in the back of the sanctuary and in the side annex which was opened up for just such occasions. Outside, cars were parked tightly in front of and behind the church. And across the state highway that runs through the village, they were lined up bumper to bumper all the way around the block on both sides of the street.
I don't remember anything about the service except that about halfway through a great storm struck. It was one of those fierce summer thunderstorms that comes up suddenly without warning. The sky turned black; the wind roared and whistled, and very soon after it started, the electricity went off so that the church was almost completely dark. There were several lightning strikes apparently very near the church, judging by how quickly they were followed by cracking thunder which shook the building like a sonic boom. This all happened in a matter of minutes, and then the rain came in torrents. It was like a dam burst in the heavens and let a great flood of waters pour down on the roof of our little church.
It stopped as suddenly as it began. A calm followed, a holy stillness, like the peace that comes to one in the midst of grief when there are no more tears to be shed. The storm had vented the outrage that we all felt at this brutal assault on our happy existence.
When we went outside after the service, we were startled to discover that the giant cottonwood tree across the highway from the church had been blown over during the storm and had smashed two cars parked beneath it. But that was only a small sample of the storm's devastation. Upon our return to the farm, we found acre after acre of corn and oats flattened by the wind. Part of the roof was gone from the barn, and in the woods several large trees had been uprooted. The storm had left a mark on our world that would last for a long time to come.
The Hanko family was in church the following Sunday, in their usual pew. I don't know how. I don't know if I would have been able to come, but they were there that Sunday and every Sunday after to take their places among the faithful in Christ's church.
Scrap Pile
Love Lifted Me
by John Sumwalt
How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you? Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face and restore whatever is lacking in your faith. Now may our God and Father himself and our Lord Jesus direct our way to you. And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
This is the old green hymnal from my home church. The cover reads "Tabernacle Hymns, Number 4, Evangelical United Brethren Church, Loyd, Wisconsin." It was published in 1951, the year I was born. An old address label with my father's name, Leonard Sumwalt, is attached on the inside of the cover.
Of all the things my Dad left our family, this is what I cherish most. I enjoy playing with the lawn tractor and the chainsaw he left at the farm, but long after they are broken and rusted away, I will be singing these songs:
"In My Heart There Rings a Melody"
"When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder"
"The Old Rugged Cross"
"What a Friend We Have in Jesus"
"In the Garden"
"Softly and Tenderly"
"I Surrender All"
Do you know some of these old Gospel hymns?
We sang many of these hymns at my father's bedside before he passed over. We were with him for six days, and the first day he sang with us. And when he could sing no more, we sang for him.
One of Dad's favorite hymns in this book, and the hymn that came to mind as I studied this passage from 1 Thessalonians this week, was "Love Lifted Me":
Love lifted me!
Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
This, I imagine, is what Paul's letter did for the new Christians in Thessalonica.
Paul says, "How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?" Love lifts!
My Aunt Hazel just moved back home to Indiana after 49 years in Wisconsin. She came here because she married my Uncle Don, who was a United Methodist pastor in the Wisconsin Conference of the United Methodist Church. In 40 years of ministry, they lived all over the state: Ash Creek, Webster, Markesan, Juda, Chippewa Falls. Uncle Don died of cancer 15 years ago.
Yesterday we received a Christmas card from Aunt Hazel telling us how much she misses all of us in Wisconsin, and she concludes, "I'm so proud of you. I love you." Her letters always warm my heart. Aunt Hazel is a lover: one of God's own earth angels who finds numerous ways to nurture people with kindness and love.
This is what Paul was doing for the Thessalonian church -- sending a letter of encouragement -- a letter filled with his love.
You have received letters like this, and birthday cards and Christmas cards. These are the kind of letters you save so you can take them out on a rainy day and be lifted again. Love picks up, lifts. This is what we do for each other in the church. God comes to us in these good souls on earth and in heaven who nurture us with love, in person and from far away.
Paul says, "Night and day we pray most earnestly that we may see you face to face...."
It has been my privilege as a pastor in this congregation to know many faithful souls like that: longtime members who loved God and loved the people of this church with all of their hearts. Fifteen of these souls have moved on to the next stage of their eternal life in the past year. Now they pray for us. They surround us with love and light, and in some ways are nearer to us now than they were in this life, helping us to remember: love lifts, God is with us.
"[M]ay the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all... that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all of his saints," Paul prays.
Eddie Ensley writes in his wonderful book Visions: The Soul's Path to the Sacred (Chicago: Loyola Press, 2000) of a time in his life when a debilitating illness nearly drove him to despair. He prayed constantly to God for relief and healing, and one night Christ came in a dream:
Christ put out his hands, palms facing upwards, and gestured for me to put my palms in his. Contentment and peace flowed from those hands to mine, passing through my hands to my arms and my whole being. His touch, firm and persuasive, invited my returning love. (p. 100)
On another night during this same period, in the midst of a similar vision, Eddie tells:
Even then I knew... that my difficulties would still face me after the vision ceased. So I asked the sender of the light, who is light beyond light, a question. I asked without words, in the heart's language. "Will you show me the way to be whole, will you make it all right?" I was met with silence. I asked more strongly, and again, the answer I received was silence. I rested there, near suspended, enveloped in light. "Help me," I begged, "to wake up in the morning and be whole." After a long pause, the answer came in the wordless language of the heart: "I love you." "Promise me," I begged, "that everything will be OK tomorrow." Another long pause, and then: "I love you." I asked yet again. This time the answer changed: "I love you and you are lovable." But still I asked, "Please heal me; make me whole." ...[A] somewhat playful answer came... "I see myself in your eyes, and you are beautiful." ...[T]hen something happened that I cannot find words or sounds or pictures to describe. All I can say is that I walked into the light, walked just a little bit into eternity, and the light shimmered and I shimmered in it. (p. 102)
Love lifted me!
Will you join me in singing these words?
I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore,
very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more;
then the master of the sea heard my despairing cry,
from the waters lifted me, now safe am I.
(chorus)
All my heart to him I give, ever to him I'll cling,
in his blessed presence live, ever his praises sing.
Love so mighty and so true merits my soul's best songs,
faithful, loving service too, to him belongs.
(chorus)
Souls in danger look above, Jesus completely saves;
he will save you by his love out of the angry waves.
He's the master of the sea, billows his will obey;
he your savior wants to be -- be saved today.
(chorus)
(Chorus)
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help, love lifted me.
(James Rowe, Howard Smith, 1939, Tabernacle Hymns, 1951)
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, December 2, 2000.
**************
An Invitation to Send Stories and Sermons
We are collecting personal stories for a third volume in the vision series, to be released in 2004. The working title is Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives. If you have any stories to share of your personal experience of the holy, please send them to jsumwalt@naspa.net. We are also looking for short fiction (parables) and personal experience stories of God's grace and presence for StoryShare. Do you have an old sermon that contains a good story or joke? Take a moment and send it today.
**************
StoryShare, November 30, 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.
