New Beginnings For A New Year
Illustration
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "New Beginnings for a New Year"
Good Stories: "Is Any Year a Good One for a Prophet?" by David Bales
"Making Man Out of Monkey?" by Terry Cain
Sermon Starters: "Recognizing Jesus in Disguise" by Terry Cain
"Anti-Venom Serum" by Wayne Brouwer
Scrap Pile: "Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story" by John Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
New Year's Day is a time when we look forward to new beginnings -- not only do we turn over the calendar, we also turn over a new leaf in our lives (with those resolutions that we never seem to be able to keep). That theme is prominent in this week's readings for the First Sunday after Christmas, as they celebrate the transition between the old, pre-incarnation order and the new order symbolized by God's Son being born among us. But while we optimistically look ahead to better times in the coming year, this edition of StoryShare also explores the darker side of the Christmas experience. John Sumwalt's powerful tale "Bleak Midwinter" reminds us that Jesus was born into a world full of violence and suffering, and it's a compelling contemporary narrative on issues raised by Herod's slaughter of the innocents. This issue also includes "Anti-Venom Serum," a striking science-fiction angle on the meaning of the incarnation. And Terry Cain's story "Making Man Out of Monkey?" addresses the evolution vs. creationism debate -- an issue that's certainly in the headlines with last week's Pennsylvania court decision outlawing the teaching of "intelligent design" in public schools.
A Story to Live By
New Beginnings for a New Year
He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds...
Ecclesiastes 3:11a
Every year, millions of Americans take part in traditional New Year's Eve celebrations. Several hundred thousand people pack into New York's Times Square to watch the big ball drop at midnight. Additional millions stay up to watch Dick Clark's "New Year's Rockin' Eve" on television. In private homes, restaurants, and bars grown men and women put on pointy little hats and honk little horns, throw confetti, and sing "Auld Lang Syne." Many who eat too much or drink too much wake up reaching for Alka-Seltzer or Pepto-Bismol on New Year's Day. That's how Americans traditionally celebrate the start of a New Year -- and almost every year I pause and wonder "Why?"
Why do some celebrate so frantically on New Year's Eve? What do we seem to be searching for from this holiday? I believe we're exuberant on New Year's Eve because the start of a new year holds out the promise of a new beginning. The old year, for many, may seem tarnished, filled with memories of slights given and slights received, harsh words exchanged or disappointments suffered. Some may drink quite a lot in an effort to forget it. But the new year is as innocent and unspoiled as a newborn baby. We can tell ourselves, "This year I'll make resolutions and keep them. This year I'll get things right."
Perhaps what we're longing for is a "do over." (In golf, a "do over" is called a "mulligan.") This longing for a "do over," for new beginnings in a new year, appears in many cultures. In Korea, at the New Year each person decides what bad habits they want to get rid of and what past misdeeds they want forgiven. They write these things on a kite and launch it. When the kite is high in the sky they cut the string and let it go. In China, they do a thorough housecleaning in the New Year to get rid of evil spirits. In Italy, they open their windows at midnight on New Year's Eve to throw out old crockery, ugly ornaments, and detested furniture, plus anything that reminds them of what they'd rather forget.
Sometimes we'd like a new beginning, but may find ourselves stuck in a rut. We revisit the same old sins, bad habits, or poisonous thoughts again and again. But the good news of the gospel is that Christ has come to set us free. There are steps you and I can take right now toward a New Beginning. Our "do over" day could be today. As hymnwriter Brian Wren puts it:
In faith we'll gather round the table
to taste and share what love can do.
This is a day of new beginnings --
our God is making all things new.
(Adapted from Holidays Are Holy Days by Alex Gondola)
Good Stories
Is Any Year a Good One for a Prophet?
by David Bales
What a rotten evening, and a cold one too, to be a prophet. As he left the temple, a red-bearded man approached from his left, yelling in his ear, "What's the word, prophet, grace or mercy? Will you defend the Sabbath or welcome all the foreigners?"
What a terrible month, and the coldest also, to be a prophet. An adolescent stepped up, pointing to the prophet's face, and said, "The mouth of the Lord. The mouth of the Lord has spoken." His frozen breaths puffed out a chilly challenge: "What next, prophet? Is the Lord gonna burn us all or create another Eden?"
A tall man, bustling through the snow, rushed up beside him, exaggeratedly walking in stride and pretending very loudly to talk confidentially: "Tell me about the future. Will it snow more this month? I need to know by tomorrow noon. That's when we place our bets. You'll get your usual ten percent cut."
Three other men following tossed their heads back and laughed. The prophet didn't turn, never broke his pace, his face resolute, the perfect demeanor of a man of God. What a horrible year to be a prophet. As he rounded a corner, another man shouted, "Are you off to bind up the brokenhearted or to release the prisoners?"
The prophet exited the temple precincts, finally away from their mocking; but as he walked in the late dusk, women who met him snickered: Another mad man having conversations with God. Groups separated to let him through as though he were a plow turning aside humanity.
He departed the temple mount and its rebuilt temple. He had slinked into the temple to view the evening sacrifice, but he was not comforted. The smoke of sacrifice and incense seemed to mix with the low clouds, darkening not only the temple of the Lord's holy city, but the entire world. He could almost feel and taste the gray winter's sky. It hung over Jerusalem as though the city were the capital of despair instead of the capital of Persia's colony of Yehud.
He hadn't asked for the job, had never thought of such a thing. A prophet? Speak for the Lord? Not one person in a hundred thousand does such, often only a handful in a hundred years. What a tragic century to be a prophet. The exiles from Babylon had returned upon the Lord's promise and by the Lord's leading, but only a few had wandered back to their homeland. And even though the temple had been rebuilt among the carcass of the city that Babylon had destroyed, many people in Jerusalem did not take the Lord's worship seriously.
The prophet looked back at the temple. It seemed to be darker than anything near it, balanced on Zion's knoll in Jerusalem's half-ruined city. This former metropolis resembled a ship -- capsized and sinking in faith's last sunset.
Yet the darkness outside the prophet had always been matched by the assurance of the Spirit within him. He'd always been able to deliver those strange messages to the Lord's people, whether they were responsive or unreceptive, grateful or depraved. He'd always received strength with each new message. The more the people turned to idols, profaned the Sabbath, and trivialized fasting, the more the prophet had proclaimed the Lord's will, and the brighter the Lord's Spirit had penetrated the prophet with hope.
But no more. No new message for months. Now the prophet was repeating his former messages, speaking by rote, surviving upon discipline. The Spirit's flashes seemed long ago. The Lord's warmth within him had faded with the shorter days of winter. And without the Lord's living presence the prophet resisted the contrasting messages he had formerly spoken: glorious salvation for those who obey, painful destruction for those who don't; exposing idolatry, then granting consolation to the humble; judgment and mercy; responsibility and grace, and the one never at the same time as the other. Each aspect of the prophet's message was absolute and unqualified. Maybe the Lord could hold such opposites within the divine being, but the prophet was coming apart.
He'd begun to wish that if the Lord were going to use him as a messenger, the messages would be either positive or negative. He'd been jerked back and forth, up and down, never a consistent message, just condemnation on this day to the wicked and consolation the next day to the wretched. Now the prophet's heart that had formerly shined so brightly with the Lord's presence felt as dark, darker than the pall over Jerusalem.
He shivered as he finally reached his dwelling. He felt his way into the house without lighting a lamp. In the dark he found and ate a few bites of bread, lay down on his mat, and tried to pull his few clothes over him. He worried and prayed and worried for half the night before he finally rolled over into sleep.
In the wink of an eye, in the wink of a wink of an eye, his consciousness was invaded -- all light, all glory, all hope, sweeping over him like date palm leaves brushing him in the wind. The Lord's presence that seemed to have left him forever returned with the greatest intensity, shaking his body. The Lord's voice whispered of vast love for him and eternal concern for his countrymen.
The next day, although even thicker, darker clouds covered Jerusalem, although the winds blew even colder, the prophet stepped up to the group of worshipers outside the temple. One more time, he couldn't stop himself if he'd tried. He said:
"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,
my whole being shall exult in my God;
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its shoots,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to spring up before all the nations.
For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,
and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest,
until her vindication shines out like the dawn,
and her salvation like a burning torch.
The nations shall see your vindication,
and all the kings your glory;
and you shall be called by a new name
that the mouth of the Lord will give.
You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God." (Isaiah 61:10--62:3)
David Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Making Man Out of Monkey?
by Terry Cain
(Psalm 8 is an excellent starting point for approaching one of the hottest issues currently frustrating many people: the debate between evolution and intelligent design. The story of a discussion between a perplexed college student and his pastor may lead us into the heart of the matter.)
Pastor Kate received a phone call one day from one of her church members who was a student away at college. Jamie was home on vacation, and he told Kate that he was struggling over an issue that not only came up in one of his classes, but also was one of the main topics of conversation on campus. An appointment was made, and Jamie came into the office the next day for a visit.
"What seems to be on your mind today, Jamie?" asked Pastor Kate.
Jamie quickly got to the point of his concern and told her about how the topic of evolution was being taught in his biology class. Whenever the subject was discussed outside of class, which was often these days, students were almost equally divided on the issue. Some felt that evolution was simply a theory, and a mistaken one at that. If evolution had to be taught in school, and apparently it was necessary, then they believed that the theory or idea that there was an intelligent agent, God, who had created our world and was maintaining it should at least have equal time. Jamie went on: "The other side claims that the creation story in our Bible is only a myth, and that evolution explains our world and there is no need for God."
"Well, which side do you come down on, Jamie?"
"Don't be mad at me, Pastor, but I kinda want to believe evolution, even though I was raised as a Christian to believe in God," responded Jamie. "And that's what's troubling me."
Kate picked up a Bible and handed it to the student. "Jamie, you seem to be caught in the trap that I believe so many people have fallen into today. If I hear what you are saying, you think that it is a matter of 'either/or'; that one side must be right and the other side wrong, and we must choose one or the other. Jamie, turn to the 8th Psalm, and let's look at it together. Notice the first verse that speaks about how glorious God is and how God's majesty is praised as high as the heavens. My friend, astronomy has revealed a universe -- heavens -- that is so vast and wonderful that it staggers the imagination. Our universe is so big that light from most of the stars left those stars before we were born and is only now getting here to earth for us to see it. And do you know how fast light travels?"
"We learned in one class that it was about 186,000 miles a second," answered Jamie.
"To put that into perspective, Jamie, if you turned on a flashlight, pointed it at the horizon, and could bend the ray of light around the earth, it would go around the world seven and a half times in that second. At that unbelievable speed some distant galaxies are so far away it takes millions of years for the light to get here. We know there are billions of stars in most galaxies and there are billions of galaxies in our universe."
"Wow, you really know your astronomy, Pastor," said Jamie.
"Instead I might say, 'I know my God,' Jamie. The third verse tells us how God put all these stars and galaxies into place. The terrific vastness of the universe -- infinite possibly -- tells me how great and wonderful is our God. All is so orderly and wonderful and awesome that it reveals to me a God that is the ultimate in greatness. Add to the wonders of space the wonders of our world close around us -- the marvelous eye to see, great music, the beauty of a rose, the power of love -- and God's design jumps out at us! What I am saying, Jamie, is that it is impossible for me to not believe in both, a form of evolution and God's hand in creation and maintenance of our universe."
Jamie thought for a few moments and then asked, "What about the creation story in Genesis and the world being created in six days?"
"First of all, Jamie, there are two creation stories in Genesis: one from Genesis 1:1 to 2:4a, and another one that begins at 2:4b and goes on. They do not agree with each other on the order or the details of creation. They are only symbolic explanations of the religious ideas about God's creation, and certainly were never meant to be scientific. Six days is a euphemistic phrase for periods of time. Such statements are not to be taken literally, just as we do not take Jesus' comments about camels passing through a needle's eyes and plucking out our eyes literally. By the way, you can recognize the two creation stories by the way Genesis has used a different term for God in the first story than the term used throughout the second story. I hope that all this helps, Jamie."
Jamie got up to leave, looked Pastor Kate in the eye, and said, "This has been very helpful. I am leaving this room with a universe that is more beautiful and a God that is far greater than the ideas I came in with! Thank you so much!"
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
Sermon Starters
Recognizing Jesus in Disguise
by Terry Cain
Luke 2:22-40
An intriguing question often asked is: "If we experienced the second coming of Jesus today, would we even recognize him?" What would he be doing? What would he look like (long white robe, maybe)? Would he be more of a radical than would please us? Two believers on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24) didn't recognize Jesus. Mary of Magdala did not recognize Jesus at first near the empty tomb (John 20), thinking he was the gardener. But there were two who realized they were in the presence of Jesus seemingly immediately, and Jesus was just a baby!
In today's scripture from Luke 2, Simeon, an "upright and devout" man, probably worshiped at the Temple in Jerusalem with some regularity. In accordance with Jewish regulations, Mary and Joseph brought Jesus into the Temple to satisfy the Law regarding the family's firstborn. Simeon approached the parents of baby Jesus and surprised them by pronouncing the baby Jesus as the "Lord's Messiah." Even though the explanation in scripture is that Simeon was led by the Holy Spirit to see Jesus for who he is, was, and would become, we still might assume that he no doubt recognized Jesus because: 1) he wanted to see Jesus; 2) he had been told he would see Jesus and expected it; and 3) he was sensitive to what Jesus would be like.
Also in this scripture passage we meet Anna, a prophetess and woman who spent most of her time in the Temple worshiping God. She too approached Mary and Joseph and immediately recognized in the baby Jesus the Messiah.
Back to our original question -- "Would we recognize Jesus if we saw him in our community today?" We might assume he wouldn't be wearing a long white robe or looking like the popular and traditional image we have of him with long hair or perhaps a long beard. Even if he was performing miracles on the street corner, we might chalk it up to the tricks with which magicians entertain us.
There is a story that is purported to be an actual happening. The scene opens with four seminar students walking down an inner-city street in the "run-down" section of a large city. They pass a man dressed in ragged clothes, dirty and needing a shave, lying on the sidewalk. The man is obviously a derelict and has passed out. The four students step around and over the man and continue down the street, making snide comments such as "Looks like he's had one too many" or the even crueler "Maybe he has had one too few." They continue on their way, laughing and joking about the man's condition.
Suddenly, one of the students stops and says to himself, "Wait a moment, we are students studying for the ministry at the seminary across town, and here lies a fellow human being who needs care. We can't behave in this manner; we should do something to help him." His friends ridicule him with comments such as the ironic "Who do you think you are, the Good Samaritan?" and they continue merrily down the street.
But the student goes back, props up the old man, and asks him where he lives. The man rallies enough to tell him where his room is. The student hails a cab. He puts the old man in the cab and climbs in himself. He takes the man home to a tenement building, gets the man's keys from his pocket, and puts the man in his room in his bed.
As the student leaves, the old man lifts himself up on his elbow, eyes the student in the doorway, and says, "If there really was a Jesus, he must have been like you!"
Can others recognize Jesus in us? Do we see Jesus in others? Remember the passage from Matthew 25:40 where the king or judge speaks for Jesus when he says, "Inasmuch as you did it unto the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it unto me." This is scary! Does it mean we should be sensitive enough and loving enough to see Jesus in others -- all others? Even criminals and enemies? Can we see through the disguise?
Do you recall the last verse of the hymn "We Would See Jesus"?
We would see Jesus, in the early morning,
still as of old he calleth, "Follow me!"
Let us arise, all meaner service scorning;
Lord, we are thine, we give ourselves to thee.
Anti-Venom Serum
by Wayne Brouwer
Galatians 4:4-7
Years ago when I lived in Alberta, Sunday nights were very special. For a few hours I was finished with study and visits and preparations and worship services. Then, late at night, I would turn on the radio. We couldn't get many stations out on the lonely prairies, but if the weather was right, some late Sunday evenings we could pick up a signal from Calgary. At 10 p.m. each week there was a science fiction radio drama I really enjoyed. I would sit for an hour in a dark room with my eyes closed, caught up in another world, and carried along by other voices stretching the limits of the universe. Although most of the stories they told were good for an hour's relaxation, one episode was so startling that I've never forgotten it.
Two great races of powerful beings from the far side of the universe were on the move. One was a family of wise and intelligent and kind beings who shared community and warmth and love. They had enormous abilities of mind and physical force, but they tempered these great strengths with gentleness and a desire never to coerce others, regardless of their capacity to do so. This was a race of beings that loved the light and the beauty of life. They spread from planet to planet, unfolding the mysteries of the galaxies with child-like wonder.
But there was a dark side to this story. Generations before, a mutant strain had appeared. One branch of the race lived in the shadows. They had grown to love power and might, and they had begun to use it in cruel and evil ways. They saw the stars as theirs to control, and the planets as their laboratory for demonic alchemy. They raced into space with conquest and gluttony on their minds. They loved the darkness, and wherever they went murkiness and gloom seemed to settle over the landscape.
At this point it seemed like just another ordinary science fiction tale, with powers of good and evil about to be pitted against each other. Then came the twist in the drama. As these two great races spread throughout the reaches of space, they were always in tension with one another. Where the race of Light appeared, stars and planets came to life and thrived. Where the race of Dark slipped in, horrors of pain and evil would follow.
Then one light year these two extraterrestrial civilizations entered the Milky Way galaxy. They each colonized planets and built their outposts in space. Some worlds blossomed with life, while other worlds slipped into the shadows of decay and terror.
Suddenly the race was on for the third planet from the sun in a little solar system flung far to the edge of this galaxy. When the forces of the Dark Race landed first, claiming it for their own, they found something quite astounding: the planet was already inhabited! There were creatures of many kinds flying above in the skies, and swimming through the seas, and lumbering across the plains and forests. Earth was already occupied!
Not only that, but it was such a delightful place: watered and weathered, peaceful and promising, friendly and fortunate... it seemed like a garden spot of paradise set apart from the rest of the reaches of space.
Now, the Dark Race was invisible to the inhabitants of Earth. They lived in another dimension of time and space. But the Dark Race functioned like a virus. It invaded the minds and hearts of humans on Earth, turning their thoughts toward evil and causing their actions to mimic its own corrupt self. Wars broke out, greed contaminated, power trampled, and disease ran rampant.
In horror, the Bright Race looked on from a distance as shadows and sickness and somber whimperings spread over planet Earth. Theirs was an eternal vow to turn back this evil plague, yet theirs was also an eternal vow not to do so by force. What could they do to rescue these helpless human creatures? How could they break the stranglehold of this crippling virus that had invaded the realms of Terra?
In worlds of their own, the Bright Race devised a plan. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best they could come up with. They would scour the earth for a suitable young woman, someone still tender enough not to be hardened deeply by the Dark Race, someone who might work with them in this incredible venture. One of their own would transform its being in such a way that he would be able to communicate with her. He would explain to her their designs and hopes.
Their scientists, he would report, would take some of the genetic materials of the Bright Race and fuse it, in her body, to one of her own eggs. Together they would bring to life a new human baby uncorrupted by the Dark Race, unscathed by the Dark Mind, unallied with the Dark Will. Her child would teach people the ways of Light and Love and Laughter. Perhaps one day the wealth of his character would overpower the virus of evil addiction that enslaved the human race.
Now, can you see me there, lost in thought on that Sunday evening, shadows surrounding me in this lonely prairie outpost? In a sense I was hearing the Christmas story I had always known, but told, in this drama, from a perspective I had never thought about. How did the world look to God? What was happening throughout the universe on that dark night in Palestine? What did the demons think of these unfolding events, and where did the angels dance as they gazed in awe?
In the short brushstrokes of an hour's poetic drama a new portrait of Christmas night was painted on the canvas of my mind, stark and fresh from its unique vantage point. In a sense, this is what Paul does for us in Galatians 4:4-7.
For one thing, he portrays the story of Christmas as a rescue mission. There is something desperate about what is taking place. On our Christmas cards the scenes of Bethlehem always look so calm and bright, shining with peace and light. Yet Paul reminds us of what broods in the heavens. Think of God, watching the darkness sweep the universe! Think of God, seeing the mutant evil that overtakes his delightful angel creatures! Think of God, observing the havoc wreaked on earth as Satan takes the warfare of the heavens and brings it to this pristine outpost of God's creative delight on the far side of the universe! Think of God, marking the growth of the cancerous virus progressively blighting planets and star systems, and now ruining one human society after another!
What is God to do? What will be the outcome of all of this?
But Christmas is more than a rescue story; it is also a story of cosmic significance.
Did you ever wonder, at the telling of this tale, what was happening on the other side of the heavens? Can you see the Council Room of the Trinity and the animated debate charting the progress of this great Civil War of the Universe? Reports come in daily, carried by messenger angels from distant galaxies. How far has the shadow spread? How deeply has the Evil One infiltrated the remaining ranks of heaven? How many stars sputter out under his darkness? And how long will the universe stand the strain before cracking in two?
At the Council Table the Three take stock of the situation. War rages at great cost of Life and Joy. How will the Dark Side be stopped? Where will they find a way to limit its power? All the possibilities are debated. All-out armed conflict? No, for then We become like them, and the universe is lost to evil. Uneasy coexistence? No again, for the Dark Side is a cancer, and it grows on what is created good. It feeds on what is now beautiful, and unchecked it will destroy all that remains of Light and Life.
Then One of the Three speaks. "What we need, Father," he says, "is a serum that will kill the poison and restore the life in the universe in stages."
All nod. But how could this be done? Where is such an anti-venom serum to be found?
Then the One speaks again. "Take me, Father," he says. "Inject me into one small world. Give me one tiny community to work in, and see if we cannot make a crack in the Enemy's armor."
So they pick a site. They plan a strategy. They form a plan. And when they emerge from the Council Room the target for their efforts has been selected. It will be the third planet from the sun in the rotating array of the solar system in a galaxy some call the Milky Way.
Here the Great Three will perform their one act of courageous hope. They will inject the Son as anti-venom serum into this tiny world. Then they will wait to see whether the universe reacts to this microscopic drop of medicine.
Why did the legions of angels hover over earth that night? It was to celebrate this new offensive in the War of the Worlds, to be sure. But more than that, every conscious mind in the universe followed the story. Every watchful eye in the galaxies turned toward Earth, for here was the test of the ages. Could the Three stop the power of the Dark Side with this single injection? Would the Serum of the Son render harmless the Venom of the Evil One? Could the Cancer running amok in the universe be tamed?
In silence the galaxies waited the outcome of the divine experiment unfolding on planet Earth.
Think not, this day, only of yourselves! Think not that this is a wonderful time for families and friends! Think not, alone, of the joy that you have received from the Baby of Bethlehem!
Sometime, in these dark winter's days, think of the angels whose fate falls with these events. And think of the planets whose destinies are determined by these happenings. And think of the values of Life and Love and Laughter that you hold so dear, and know that if this experiment fails the universe will never again be home to them!
Be careful what you think about this twist of history, and do not limit too soon what it means for the universe!
One more thought: this rescue mission with cosmic significance is costly. It is extremely costly. Lost in the partying and the caroling and the smashing noise of the season, do you see that one little thing?
Look again at Bethlehem, and see it from the perspective of the heaven. What takes place here? Is it the whimsical comedy of a church school pageant with boys in bathrobes and girls wearing ill-fitting angel-ware? Is it the hilarity of the holidays, decking halls and trimming trees? Is it the mad rushing of shopping and partying and gift-giving? Is it even the quiet sanctimoniousness of organized church services and majestic choral performances?
Take one more look from the darkness of deep space and you know that it is not. Why did the angels hover over the earth that night? Because, in some horrendous grimness of the seizures twisting through the universe, the Trinity in Heaven's High Council Room planned one last measure in the fight to save the cosmos from the spreading blight of the Dark Venom. In a small miracle of grace, a tiny dose of Anti-Venom Serum was injected into the leukemic blood of earth at Bethlehem.
Is the desperate measure working?
You will have to search your own heart to find the answer.
Wayne Brouwer is the senior pastor of Harderwyk Ministries and a part-time lecturer at Hope College, both in Holland, Michigan. A contributing writer for the preaching journal Emphasis, Brouwer has authored more than a dozen books, including Humming Till The Music Returns (CSS), from which this excerpt was taken. He is a graduate of Dordt College, Calvin Theological Seminary, and McMaster University.
Scrap Pile
Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story
by John Sumwalt
And the angel said to them, "Be not afraid; for behold I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger." And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased."
Luke 2:10-14
Then Herod when he saw that he had been tricked by the wisemen, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or younger...
Matthew 2:16
Mid-December: Snow fell lightly outside a big farmhouse, covering the fields around with a cool white blanket which would keep the fragile alfalfa roots safe until spring. Inside, happy voices could be heard laughing and singing over the soft twinkle of Elsie Barnett's baby grand piano, the one Herb had bought for her to replace her old upright. Herb was gone now, dead almost two years. They had used his memorial money to buy a second baby grand for the church for Elsie to play in worship. The two pianos had become Elsie's source of life. Music was her salvation. It gave her an important function in the church and community. How she loved to play and sing!
Byron Bain parked his pickup truck near the other vehicles next to the barn and made his way slowly, somewhat uncertainly, toward the light and warmth of the house. He could hear the music, the sweet blend of Elsie's playing and the voices of her guests floating out over the snow. It was to him like the tantalizing aroma of food cooking before a meal. It touched something deep inside of him, a hunger for acceptance, for physical comfort and love. The sound heightened his anticipation for the evening of fellowship to which he had been invited. And it whetted the ache of longing which had permeated his being for so many years. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps tonight he would be able to tell her.
Byron loved Elsie, always had for as long as he could remember. They had been in grade school together -- and he had neighbored with her and Herb for nearly forty years. He had never been able to tell her, had been too timid to tell her before she fell in love with Herb, hadn't even dared to consider the possibility as long as Herb was alive -- but now it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment. He stopped by regularly to give a hand with minor repairs and other little things she wasn't able to do for herself. Sometimes Elsie would offer him a cup of coffee and they would sit and talk.
He glanced through the window into the living room as he climbed up the steps onto the porch. Martin Van Able, the widower from up the road, was there, standing next to the piano looking over Elsie's right shoulder. The McCallums, Lucy and Burt, who used to live on the old Stringer place but had retired the year before last and moved into town, were sitting on the couch. Jim, Elsie's son, and his wife Janet were in the loveseat at the far end of the room. The twins, Heather and Holly, they were about eleven now, were sitting on the bench on either side of their grandmother. And their brother, little Jimmy, Jim and Janet's youngest and thus still called "little" though he was bigger than most other nine-year-olds, was standing on the other side of Elsie across from Martin, looking over her other shoulder.
"Let's sing my favorite carol," Byron heard Elsie call out. Her voice was only slightly muffled by the pane of glass that separated him from the living room. Elsie launched into "O Little Town of Bethlehem" as Byron crossed the porch and opened the door into the front hall. The sound of the voices swelled, now filling the whole house, as the familiar words about that faraway place and time seemed to lift them beyond the moment into some timeless, non-material dimension.
...how still we see thee lie
above thy deep and dreamless sleep
the silent stars go by
yet in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light
the hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight.
Byron entered the living room and stood next to the giant Christmas cactus on the oak stand just inside the doorway. It was hanging heavy with pink redbuds that looked as if they could burst into full flower at any moment. No one seemed to notice him come in. They were still caught up in the song.
"You girls sing the next verse," Elsie said. There was no doubt that they were her favorites. She had always been close to the twins. Jimmy had his own special place in her heart. He had been Herb's favorite. They had fished and hunted together, but the girls were her girls and that was all there was to it. She had taught them how to sing together and had had them sing often in the worship service at church. Their sweet voices melded together as one in angelic tones reminiscent of those that were heard that night over the shepherd's field.
...O holy child of Bethlehem
descend to us we pray
cast out our sin and enter in
be born in us today...
When they had sung all of the verses Elsie gave each of her girls a squeeze, got up from the bench, and declared, "Now before we have our ice cream and pie, I have an announcement to make." She stepped over next to Martin Van Able and took hold of his hand. There was a moment of quiet astonishment as Elsie's guests exchanged quizzical glances. No one had expected anything like this. The color drained from Byron's face, but no one noticed. Everyone was staring at Elsie.
"I expect this will come as something of a shock to all of you," she began, "but we couldn't wait to tell you. Martin and I are going to be married." She was glowing now. "Sometime next spring," she said. "He asked me last night and I accepted." And then, looking at their faces and seeing the amazement that was still in their eyes, she continued somewhat hesitantly, "I hope you will be happy for us." They all moved to embrace them and to speak the obligatory words of congratulations, all except Byron. He walked quietly out of the living room, picked up his coat, and left the house without a word.
After the hugs and a few awkward moments of silence as the news of this unexpected union was gradually absorbed into their collective consciousness, Elsie and Martin fielded a host of questions.
"Well, when did all of this come about?"
"How long have you two been conspiring together?"
"Where will you live?"
"What will become of the farm?"
"Who will be in the wedding?" one of the twins wanted to know. They were assured that they would both be flower girls and that Jimmy was to be the ring bearer.
And after everyone was satisfied that life would go on in an acceptable way, and they had begun to share Elsie and Martin's joy, they all settled down for a winter evening repast.
Elsie went into the kitchen to get the coffee and dessert. Jimmy sneaked out the back door to check on the dogs. Everyone else moved back to their original seats and the conversation gradually returned to the more mundane concerns of crops, weather, the price of corn, and the new dog track that had opened up in town. No one noticed that Byron was not there.
He was standing down by his pickup truck, staring back at the house. The door to the cab was half open, its interior dimly illuminated by a flickering dome light which was affixed to the center of the roof directly over the gun rack.
"To be so close," Byron thought, "after all these years. I know she loves me. How could she do this to me? What's wrong with me?" He screamed the words in his mind, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth hard together. The sound of laughter poured out from the living room, piercing the cold night air. It seemed to Byron that it grew louder and louder, ringing in his ears again and again. His heart began to pound, his throat tightened, he found it difficult to swallow, his breathing slowed and almost stopped. He gasped for breath. The lights in the house swam before his eyes. Byron thought for a moment that he was going to pass out in the snow. But something inside was driving him to resist -- to fight back. All the hurt and anger of a lifetime of failures and disappointments erupted from the nether regions of his soul like molten lava gushing out of a hot volcano. He reached into the cab and took the gun. In one motion he slid the gun from its case and cocked it, then he turned and moved deliberately toward the house.
The only thing he could remember when they questioned him later was the sound of the gun firing again and again. He would hear the echo of the shots resounding in his memory for as long as he lived. He could almost count them.
"Did I kill them all?" He finally forced himself to ask the question.
Elsie and the little boy were unhurt, they told him. The rest were dead.
Byron wished himself dead. As they put him in a cell and he heard the door close behind him, he wondered why he hadn't ended it for himself as well. Thinking of the pain he had caused Elsie was more than he could bear. There was nothing left for him now. He lay on the cell bed staring into the blackness, silently cursing the whole wasted life he had lived.
Near the end of that first long day, Byron was roused from his moribund trance by a flash of light which came through the narrow window over the commode next to the bed. When he stood on top of it, carefully positioning his feet on each side of the opening so as not to slip on the grimy porcelain, he could see a metal cross atop the spire of the church across the street. The cross had caught one of the last starry rays of the setting sun and reflected it mercifully through the window of his cell.
Byron clung to the edge of the window with one hand, and with the other he made a fist which he shook furiously in the direction of the cross. "Where were you when I needed you?" he shouted. "Why didn't you stop me?"
The following week there were three funerals on successive days at the church across the street from the jail. No one noticed Byron's eyes watching from the third floor window as seven caskets passed in and out the great doors of the church. On the last day as the four Barnett caskets were carried away in a parade of gray hearses, Byron looked for the first time since the night of his blind rage upon the faces of Elsie and Jimmy. He was glad that they had been spared and he tried to weep for them, but he found himself denied even the comfort of tears.
Christmas Eve came too soon that year. A heavy snow fell in big wet flakes from dark December clouds as the reluctant worshipers trudged through the slush, dutifully taking their places in well-worn pews. The church was soon full, as it had been for each of the funerals the week before, and the funeral atmosphere prevailed. There was no joy, no sense of anticipation. They greeted each other with subdued voices, whispering and nodding greetings as they cast furtive glances at the bereaved families who were also present in their usual places. It was almost as if the caskets were still open before them.
They went through the motions of worship, singing without feeling, repeating the prayers without thought. The minister was dreading the sermon. He didn't know what he could say that might penetrate the all-pervasive gloom.
The Christmas anthem came just before the sermon. Elsie was to play. She had insisted on it, said there was no reason to put it off. She had been through this before, and besides the music would help. So no one was surprised when she took her usual place at the keyboard in front of the baby grand. There were some murmurs though when Jimmy got up and sat down beside her on the bench. "He's going to turn the pages for her," someone whispered. But Elsie didn't need help with page-turning. Jimmy was there to sing. They sang the first verse together, tentatively in the beginning but then in perfect harmony as the congregation began to resonate with them and the music, the old woman in a trained alto voice well past its prime and the young boy in a pure perfect soprano:
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.
Elsie let Jimmy sing out alone on the second verse.
Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign...
Outside the snow had stopped and the clouds had begun to lift. Across the street Byron Bain stood precariously on his tiptoes atop the commode in his jail cell straining to get a full view of the church. He could hear the music faintly through a crack in the cell window, the heavenly blend of Elsie's playing and the sweet angelic voice of her grandson floating out over the snow. And then his eye was taken by a speck of light twinkling beyond the cross in the eastern sky, the first evening star, shining ever brighter moment by moment as it rose slowly over the dark world below.
"In the bleak midwinter," Jimmy sang, "a stable place sufficed the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ."
Author's Note: Verses 16-18 from the second chapter of Matthew are omitted from some of the lectionary pericopes. We don't like to hear about the slaughter of innocents at Christmastime -- we prefer Luke's more tranquil pastoral scenes. But Herod's rage and the massacre he orders as a result are an important part of the story. Jesus was born into the real world, after all, and it is in this real world of violence and suffering that he does his saving work. The tragic scene described in these three verses stands in stark contrast to the rest of the Christmas story as told by both Luke and Matthew. When these verses are read the congregation will feel their power -- and they will put in the congregation's minds the question which this story addresses.
Here is a possible order of worship combining this story with hymns and scripture:
First Reader: Luke 2:8-14
Duet: "O Little Town of Bethlehem" (verses 1-2)
Second Reader: Matthew 2:1-12
Duet: "O Little Town of Bethlehem" (verses 3-4)
First Reader: Matthew 2:13-18
Storyteller: "Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story"
Solo: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verse 1)
Choir: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verses 2-3)
Congregation: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verse 4)
Storyteller: Matthew 2:19-23
Congregation: "O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright"
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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, January 1, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2005 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: "New Beginnings for a New Year"
Good Stories: "Is Any Year a Good One for a Prophet?" by David Bales
"Making Man Out of Monkey?" by Terry Cain
Sermon Starters: "Recognizing Jesus in Disguise" by Terry Cain
"Anti-Venom Serum" by Wayne Brouwer
Scrap Pile: "Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story" by John Sumwalt
What's Up This Week
New Year's Day is a time when we look forward to new beginnings -- not only do we turn over the calendar, we also turn over a new leaf in our lives (with those resolutions that we never seem to be able to keep). That theme is prominent in this week's readings for the First Sunday after Christmas, as they celebrate the transition between the old, pre-incarnation order and the new order symbolized by God's Son being born among us. But while we optimistically look ahead to better times in the coming year, this edition of StoryShare also explores the darker side of the Christmas experience. John Sumwalt's powerful tale "Bleak Midwinter" reminds us that Jesus was born into a world full of violence and suffering, and it's a compelling contemporary narrative on issues raised by Herod's slaughter of the innocents. This issue also includes "Anti-Venom Serum," a striking science-fiction angle on the meaning of the incarnation. And Terry Cain's story "Making Man Out of Monkey?" addresses the evolution vs. creationism debate -- an issue that's certainly in the headlines with last week's Pennsylvania court decision outlawing the teaching of "intelligent design" in public schools.
A Story to Live By
New Beginnings for a New Year
He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds...
Ecclesiastes 3:11a
Every year, millions of Americans take part in traditional New Year's Eve celebrations. Several hundred thousand people pack into New York's Times Square to watch the big ball drop at midnight. Additional millions stay up to watch Dick Clark's "New Year's Rockin' Eve" on television. In private homes, restaurants, and bars grown men and women put on pointy little hats and honk little horns, throw confetti, and sing "Auld Lang Syne." Many who eat too much or drink too much wake up reaching for Alka-Seltzer or Pepto-Bismol on New Year's Day. That's how Americans traditionally celebrate the start of a New Year -- and almost every year I pause and wonder "Why?"
Why do some celebrate so frantically on New Year's Eve? What do we seem to be searching for from this holiday? I believe we're exuberant on New Year's Eve because the start of a new year holds out the promise of a new beginning. The old year, for many, may seem tarnished, filled with memories of slights given and slights received, harsh words exchanged or disappointments suffered. Some may drink quite a lot in an effort to forget it. But the new year is as innocent and unspoiled as a newborn baby. We can tell ourselves, "This year I'll make resolutions and keep them. This year I'll get things right."
Perhaps what we're longing for is a "do over." (In golf, a "do over" is called a "mulligan.") This longing for a "do over," for new beginnings in a new year, appears in many cultures. In Korea, at the New Year each person decides what bad habits they want to get rid of and what past misdeeds they want forgiven. They write these things on a kite and launch it. When the kite is high in the sky they cut the string and let it go. In China, they do a thorough housecleaning in the New Year to get rid of evil spirits. In Italy, they open their windows at midnight on New Year's Eve to throw out old crockery, ugly ornaments, and detested furniture, plus anything that reminds them of what they'd rather forget.
Sometimes we'd like a new beginning, but may find ourselves stuck in a rut. We revisit the same old sins, bad habits, or poisonous thoughts again and again. But the good news of the gospel is that Christ has come to set us free. There are steps you and I can take right now toward a New Beginning. Our "do over" day could be today. As hymnwriter Brian Wren puts it:
In faith we'll gather round the table
to taste and share what love can do.
This is a day of new beginnings --
our God is making all things new.
(Adapted from Holidays Are Holy Days by Alex Gondola)
Good Stories
Is Any Year a Good One for a Prophet?
by David Bales
What a rotten evening, and a cold one too, to be a prophet. As he left the temple, a red-bearded man approached from his left, yelling in his ear, "What's the word, prophet, grace or mercy? Will you defend the Sabbath or welcome all the foreigners?"
What a terrible month, and the coldest also, to be a prophet. An adolescent stepped up, pointing to the prophet's face, and said, "The mouth of the Lord. The mouth of the Lord has spoken." His frozen breaths puffed out a chilly challenge: "What next, prophet? Is the Lord gonna burn us all or create another Eden?"
A tall man, bustling through the snow, rushed up beside him, exaggeratedly walking in stride and pretending very loudly to talk confidentially: "Tell me about the future. Will it snow more this month? I need to know by tomorrow noon. That's when we place our bets. You'll get your usual ten percent cut."
Three other men following tossed their heads back and laughed. The prophet didn't turn, never broke his pace, his face resolute, the perfect demeanor of a man of God. What a horrible year to be a prophet. As he rounded a corner, another man shouted, "Are you off to bind up the brokenhearted or to release the prisoners?"
The prophet exited the temple precincts, finally away from their mocking; but as he walked in the late dusk, women who met him snickered: Another mad man having conversations with God. Groups separated to let him through as though he were a plow turning aside humanity.
He departed the temple mount and its rebuilt temple. He had slinked into the temple to view the evening sacrifice, but he was not comforted. The smoke of sacrifice and incense seemed to mix with the low clouds, darkening not only the temple of the Lord's holy city, but the entire world. He could almost feel and taste the gray winter's sky. It hung over Jerusalem as though the city were the capital of despair instead of the capital of Persia's colony of Yehud.
He hadn't asked for the job, had never thought of such a thing. A prophet? Speak for the Lord? Not one person in a hundred thousand does such, often only a handful in a hundred years. What a tragic century to be a prophet. The exiles from Babylon had returned upon the Lord's promise and by the Lord's leading, but only a few had wandered back to their homeland. And even though the temple had been rebuilt among the carcass of the city that Babylon had destroyed, many people in Jerusalem did not take the Lord's worship seriously.
The prophet looked back at the temple. It seemed to be darker than anything near it, balanced on Zion's knoll in Jerusalem's half-ruined city. This former metropolis resembled a ship -- capsized and sinking in faith's last sunset.
Yet the darkness outside the prophet had always been matched by the assurance of the Spirit within him. He'd always been able to deliver those strange messages to the Lord's people, whether they were responsive or unreceptive, grateful or depraved. He'd always received strength with each new message. The more the people turned to idols, profaned the Sabbath, and trivialized fasting, the more the prophet had proclaimed the Lord's will, and the brighter the Lord's Spirit had penetrated the prophet with hope.
But no more. No new message for months. Now the prophet was repeating his former messages, speaking by rote, surviving upon discipline. The Spirit's flashes seemed long ago. The Lord's warmth within him had faded with the shorter days of winter. And without the Lord's living presence the prophet resisted the contrasting messages he had formerly spoken: glorious salvation for those who obey, painful destruction for those who don't; exposing idolatry, then granting consolation to the humble; judgment and mercy; responsibility and grace, and the one never at the same time as the other. Each aspect of the prophet's message was absolute and unqualified. Maybe the Lord could hold such opposites within the divine being, but the prophet was coming apart.
He'd begun to wish that if the Lord were going to use him as a messenger, the messages would be either positive or negative. He'd been jerked back and forth, up and down, never a consistent message, just condemnation on this day to the wicked and consolation the next day to the wretched. Now the prophet's heart that had formerly shined so brightly with the Lord's presence felt as dark, darker than the pall over Jerusalem.
He shivered as he finally reached his dwelling. He felt his way into the house without lighting a lamp. In the dark he found and ate a few bites of bread, lay down on his mat, and tried to pull his few clothes over him. He worried and prayed and worried for half the night before he finally rolled over into sleep.
In the wink of an eye, in the wink of a wink of an eye, his consciousness was invaded -- all light, all glory, all hope, sweeping over him like date palm leaves brushing him in the wind. The Lord's presence that seemed to have left him forever returned with the greatest intensity, shaking his body. The Lord's voice whispered of vast love for him and eternal concern for his countrymen.
The next day, although even thicker, darker clouds covered Jerusalem, although the winds blew even colder, the prophet stepped up to the group of worshipers outside the temple. One more time, he couldn't stop himself if he'd tried. He said:
"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord,
my whole being shall exult in my God;
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its shoots,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to spring up before all the nations.
For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,
and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest,
until her vindication shines out like the dawn,
and her salvation like a burning torch.
The nations shall see your vindication,
and all the kings your glory;
and you shall be called by a new name
that the mouth of the Lord will give.
You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God." (Isaiah 61:10--62:3)
David Bales has been a Presbyterian pastor for 30 years. Currently the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
Making Man Out of Monkey?
by Terry Cain
(Psalm 8 is an excellent starting point for approaching one of the hottest issues currently frustrating many people: the debate between evolution and intelligent design. The story of a discussion between a perplexed college student and his pastor may lead us into the heart of the matter.)
Pastor Kate received a phone call one day from one of her church members who was a student away at college. Jamie was home on vacation, and he told Kate that he was struggling over an issue that not only came up in one of his classes, but also was one of the main topics of conversation on campus. An appointment was made, and Jamie came into the office the next day for a visit.
"What seems to be on your mind today, Jamie?" asked Pastor Kate.
Jamie quickly got to the point of his concern and told her about how the topic of evolution was being taught in his biology class. Whenever the subject was discussed outside of class, which was often these days, students were almost equally divided on the issue. Some felt that evolution was simply a theory, and a mistaken one at that. If evolution had to be taught in school, and apparently it was necessary, then they believed that the theory or idea that there was an intelligent agent, God, who had created our world and was maintaining it should at least have equal time. Jamie went on: "The other side claims that the creation story in our Bible is only a myth, and that evolution explains our world and there is no need for God."
"Well, which side do you come down on, Jamie?"
"Don't be mad at me, Pastor, but I kinda want to believe evolution, even though I was raised as a Christian to believe in God," responded Jamie. "And that's what's troubling me."
Kate picked up a Bible and handed it to the student. "Jamie, you seem to be caught in the trap that I believe so many people have fallen into today. If I hear what you are saying, you think that it is a matter of 'either/or'; that one side must be right and the other side wrong, and we must choose one or the other. Jamie, turn to the 8th Psalm, and let's look at it together. Notice the first verse that speaks about how glorious God is and how God's majesty is praised as high as the heavens. My friend, astronomy has revealed a universe -- heavens -- that is so vast and wonderful that it staggers the imagination. Our universe is so big that light from most of the stars left those stars before we were born and is only now getting here to earth for us to see it. And do you know how fast light travels?"
"We learned in one class that it was about 186,000 miles a second," answered Jamie.
"To put that into perspective, Jamie, if you turned on a flashlight, pointed it at the horizon, and could bend the ray of light around the earth, it would go around the world seven and a half times in that second. At that unbelievable speed some distant galaxies are so far away it takes millions of years for the light to get here. We know there are billions of stars in most galaxies and there are billions of galaxies in our universe."
"Wow, you really know your astronomy, Pastor," said Jamie.
"Instead I might say, 'I know my God,' Jamie. The third verse tells us how God put all these stars and galaxies into place. The terrific vastness of the universe -- infinite possibly -- tells me how great and wonderful is our God. All is so orderly and wonderful and awesome that it reveals to me a God that is the ultimate in greatness. Add to the wonders of space the wonders of our world close around us -- the marvelous eye to see, great music, the beauty of a rose, the power of love -- and God's design jumps out at us! What I am saying, Jamie, is that it is impossible for me to not believe in both, a form of evolution and God's hand in creation and maintenance of our universe."
Jamie thought for a few moments and then asked, "What about the creation story in Genesis and the world being created in six days?"
"First of all, Jamie, there are two creation stories in Genesis: one from Genesis 1:1 to 2:4a, and another one that begins at 2:4b and goes on. They do not agree with each other on the order or the details of creation. They are only symbolic explanations of the religious ideas about God's creation, and certainly were never meant to be scientific. Six days is a euphemistic phrase for periods of time. Such statements are not to be taken literally, just as we do not take Jesus' comments about camels passing through a needle's eyes and plucking out our eyes literally. By the way, you can recognize the two creation stories by the way Genesis has used a different term for God in the first story than the term used throughout the second story. I hope that all this helps, Jamie."
Jamie got up to leave, looked Pastor Kate in the eye, and said, "This has been very helpful. I am leaving this room with a universe that is more beautiful and a God that is far greater than the ideas I came in with! Thank you so much!"
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
Sermon Starters
Recognizing Jesus in Disguise
by Terry Cain
Luke 2:22-40
An intriguing question often asked is: "If we experienced the second coming of Jesus today, would we even recognize him?" What would he be doing? What would he look like (long white robe, maybe)? Would he be more of a radical than would please us? Two believers on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24) didn't recognize Jesus. Mary of Magdala did not recognize Jesus at first near the empty tomb (John 20), thinking he was the gardener. But there were two who realized they were in the presence of Jesus seemingly immediately, and Jesus was just a baby!
In today's scripture from Luke 2, Simeon, an "upright and devout" man, probably worshiped at the Temple in Jerusalem with some regularity. In accordance with Jewish regulations, Mary and Joseph brought Jesus into the Temple to satisfy the Law regarding the family's firstborn. Simeon approached the parents of baby Jesus and surprised them by pronouncing the baby Jesus as the "Lord's Messiah." Even though the explanation in scripture is that Simeon was led by the Holy Spirit to see Jesus for who he is, was, and would become, we still might assume that he no doubt recognized Jesus because: 1) he wanted to see Jesus; 2) he had been told he would see Jesus and expected it; and 3) he was sensitive to what Jesus would be like.
Also in this scripture passage we meet Anna, a prophetess and woman who spent most of her time in the Temple worshiping God. She too approached Mary and Joseph and immediately recognized in the baby Jesus the Messiah.
Back to our original question -- "Would we recognize Jesus if we saw him in our community today?" We might assume he wouldn't be wearing a long white robe or looking like the popular and traditional image we have of him with long hair or perhaps a long beard. Even if he was performing miracles on the street corner, we might chalk it up to the tricks with which magicians entertain us.
There is a story that is purported to be an actual happening. The scene opens with four seminar students walking down an inner-city street in the "run-down" section of a large city. They pass a man dressed in ragged clothes, dirty and needing a shave, lying on the sidewalk. The man is obviously a derelict and has passed out. The four students step around and over the man and continue down the street, making snide comments such as "Looks like he's had one too many" or the even crueler "Maybe he has had one too few." They continue on their way, laughing and joking about the man's condition.
Suddenly, one of the students stops and says to himself, "Wait a moment, we are students studying for the ministry at the seminary across town, and here lies a fellow human being who needs care. We can't behave in this manner; we should do something to help him." His friends ridicule him with comments such as the ironic "Who do you think you are, the Good Samaritan?" and they continue merrily down the street.
But the student goes back, props up the old man, and asks him where he lives. The man rallies enough to tell him where his room is. The student hails a cab. He puts the old man in the cab and climbs in himself. He takes the man home to a tenement building, gets the man's keys from his pocket, and puts the man in his room in his bed.
As the student leaves, the old man lifts himself up on his elbow, eyes the student in the doorway, and says, "If there really was a Jesus, he must have been like you!"
Can others recognize Jesus in us? Do we see Jesus in others? Remember the passage from Matthew 25:40 where the king or judge speaks for Jesus when he says, "Inasmuch as you did it unto the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it unto me." This is scary! Does it mean we should be sensitive enough and loving enough to see Jesus in others -- all others? Even criminals and enemies? Can we see through the disguise?
Do you recall the last verse of the hymn "We Would See Jesus"?
We would see Jesus, in the early morning,
still as of old he calleth, "Follow me!"
Let us arise, all meaner service scorning;
Lord, we are thine, we give ourselves to thee.
Anti-Venom Serum
by Wayne Brouwer
Galatians 4:4-7
Years ago when I lived in Alberta, Sunday nights were very special. For a few hours I was finished with study and visits and preparations and worship services. Then, late at night, I would turn on the radio. We couldn't get many stations out on the lonely prairies, but if the weather was right, some late Sunday evenings we could pick up a signal from Calgary. At 10 p.m. each week there was a science fiction radio drama I really enjoyed. I would sit for an hour in a dark room with my eyes closed, caught up in another world, and carried along by other voices stretching the limits of the universe. Although most of the stories they told were good for an hour's relaxation, one episode was so startling that I've never forgotten it.
Two great races of powerful beings from the far side of the universe were on the move. One was a family of wise and intelligent and kind beings who shared community and warmth and love. They had enormous abilities of mind and physical force, but they tempered these great strengths with gentleness and a desire never to coerce others, regardless of their capacity to do so. This was a race of beings that loved the light and the beauty of life. They spread from planet to planet, unfolding the mysteries of the galaxies with child-like wonder.
But there was a dark side to this story. Generations before, a mutant strain had appeared. One branch of the race lived in the shadows. They had grown to love power and might, and they had begun to use it in cruel and evil ways. They saw the stars as theirs to control, and the planets as their laboratory for demonic alchemy. They raced into space with conquest and gluttony on their minds. They loved the darkness, and wherever they went murkiness and gloom seemed to settle over the landscape.
At this point it seemed like just another ordinary science fiction tale, with powers of good and evil about to be pitted against each other. Then came the twist in the drama. As these two great races spread throughout the reaches of space, they were always in tension with one another. Where the race of Light appeared, stars and planets came to life and thrived. Where the race of Dark slipped in, horrors of pain and evil would follow.
Then one light year these two extraterrestrial civilizations entered the Milky Way galaxy. They each colonized planets and built their outposts in space. Some worlds blossomed with life, while other worlds slipped into the shadows of decay and terror.
Suddenly the race was on for the third planet from the sun in a little solar system flung far to the edge of this galaxy. When the forces of the Dark Race landed first, claiming it for their own, they found something quite astounding: the planet was already inhabited! There were creatures of many kinds flying above in the skies, and swimming through the seas, and lumbering across the plains and forests. Earth was already occupied!
Not only that, but it was such a delightful place: watered and weathered, peaceful and promising, friendly and fortunate... it seemed like a garden spot of paradise set apart from the rest of the reaches of space.
Now, the Dark Race was invisible to the inhabitants of Earth. They lived in another dimension of time and space. But the Dark Race functioned like a virus. It invaded the minds and hearts of humans on Earth, turning their thoughts toward evil and causing their actions to mimic its own corrupt self. Wars broke out, greed contaminated, power trampled, and disease ran rampant.
In horror, the Bright Race looked on from a distance as shadows and sickness and somber whimperings spread over planet Earth. Theirs was an eternal vow to turn back this evil plague, yet theirs was also an eternal vow not to do so by force. What could they do to rescue these helpless human creatures? How could they break the stranglehold of this crippling virus that had invaded the realms of Terra?
In worlds of their own, the Bright Race devised a plan. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best they could come up with. They would scour the earth for a suitable young woman, someone still tender enough not to be hardened deeply by the Dark Race, someone who might work with them in this incredible venture. One of their own would transform its being in such a way that he would be able to communicate with her. He would explain to her their designs and hopes.
Their scientists, he would report, would take some of the genetic materials of the Bright Race and fuse it, in her body, to one of her own eggs. Together they would bring to life a new human baby uncorrupted by the Dark Race, unscathed by the Dark Mind, unallied with the Dark Will. Her child would teach people the ways of Light and Love and Laughter. Perhaps one day the wealth of his character would overpower the virus of evil addiction that enslaved the human race.
Now, can you see me there, lost in thought on that Sunday evening, shadows surrounding me in this lonely prairie outpost? In a sense I was hearing the Christmas story I had always known, but told, in this drama, from a perspective I had never thought about. How did the world look to God? What was happening throughout the universe on that dark night in Palestine? What did the demons think of these unfolding events, and where did the angels dance as they gazed in awe?
In the short brushstrokes of an hour's poetic drama a new portrait of Christmas night was painted on the canvas of my mind, stark and fresh from its unique vantage point. In a sense, this is what Paul does for us in Galatians 4:4-7.
For one thing, he portrays the story of Christmas as a rescue mission. There is something desperate about what is taking place. On our Christmas cards the scenes of Bethlehem always look so calm and bright, shining with peace and light. Yet Paul reminds us of what broods in the heavens. Think of God, watching the darkness sweep the universe! Think of God, seeing the mutant evil that overtakes his delightful angel creatures! Think of God, observing the havoc wreaked on earth as Satan takes the warfare of the heavens and brings it to this pristine outpost of God's creative delight on the far side of the universe! Think of God, marking the growth of the cancerous virus progressively blighting planets and star systems, and now ruining one human society after another!
What is God to do? What will be the outcome of all of this?
But Christmas is more than a rescue story; it is also a story of cosmic significance.
Did you ever wonder, at the telling of this tale, what was happening on the other side of the heavens? Can you see the Council Room of the Trinity and the animated debate charting the progress of this great Civil War of the Universe? Reports come in daily, carried by messenger angels from distant galaxies. How far has the shadow spread? How deeply has the Evil One infiltrated the remaining ranks of heaven? How many stars sputter out under his darkness? And how long will the universe stand the strain before cracking in two?
At the Council Table the Three take stock of the situation. War rages at great cost of Life and Joy. How will the Dark Side be stopped? Where will they find a way to limit its power? All the possibilities are debated. All-out armed conflict? No, for then We become like them, and the universe is lost to evil. Uneasy coexistence? No again, for the Dark Side is a cancer, and it grows on what is created good. It feeds on what is now beautiful, and unchecked it will destroy all that remains of Light and Life.
Then One of the Three speaks. "What we need, Father," he says, "is a serum that will kill the poison and restore the life in the universe in stages."
All nod. But how could this be done? Where is such an anti-venom serum to be found?
Then the One speaks again. "Take me, Father," he says. "Inject me into one small world. Give me one tiny community to work in, and see if we cannot make a crack in the Enemy's armor."
So they pick a site. They plan a strategy. They form a plan. And when they emerge from the Council Room the target for their efforts has been selected. It will be the third planet from the sun in the rotating array of the solar system in a galaxy some call the Milky Way.
Here the Great Three will perform their one act of courageous hope. They will inject the Son as anti-venom serum into this tiny world. Then they will wait to see whether the universe reacts to this microscopic drop of medicine.
Why did the legions of angels hover over earth that night? It was to celebrate this new offensive in the War of the Worlds, to be sure. But more than that, every conscious mind in the universe followed the story. Every watchful eye in the galaxies turned toward Earth, for here was the test of the ages. Could the Three stop the power of the Dark Side with this single injection? Would the Serum of the Son render harmless the Venom of the Evil One? Could the Cancer running amok in the universe be tamed?
In silence the galaxies waited the outcome of the divine experiment unfolding on planet Earth.
Think not, this day, only of yourselves! Think not that this is a wonderful time for families and friends! Think not, alone, of the joy that you have received from the Baby of Bethlehem!
Sometime, in these dark winter's days, think of the angels whose fate falls with these events. And think of the planets whose destinies are determined by these happenings. And think of the values of Life and Love and Laughter that you hold so dear, and know that if this experiment fails the universe will never again be home to them!
Be careful what you think about this twist of history, and do not limit too soon what it means for the universe!
One more thought: this rescue mission with cosmic significance is costly. It is extremely costly. Lost in the partying and the caroling and the smashing noise of the season, do you see that one little thing?
Look again at Bethlehem, and see it from the perspective of the heaven. What takes place here? Is it the whimsical comedy of a church school pageant with boys in bathrobes and girls wearing ill-fitting angel-ware? Is it the hilarity of the holidays, decking halls and trimming trees? Is it the mad rushing of shopping and partying and gift-giving? Is it even the quiet sanctimoniousness of organized church services and majestic choral performances?
Take one more look from the darkness of deep space and you know that it is not. Why did the angels hover over the earth that night? Because, in some horrendous grimness of the seizures twisting through the universe, the Trinity in Heaven's High Council Room planned one last measure in the fight to save the cosmos from the spreading blight of the Dark Venom. In a small miracle of grace, a tiny dose of Anti-Venom Serum was injected into the leukemic blood of earth at Bethlehem.
Is the desperate measure working?
You will have to search your own heart to find the answer.
Wayne Brouwer is the senior pastor of Harderwyk Ministries and a part-time lecturer at Hope College, both in Holland, Michigan. A contributing writer for the preaching journal Emphasis, Brouwer has authored more than a dozen books, including Humming Till The Music Returns (CSS), from which this excerpt was taken. He is a graduate of Dordt College, Calvin Theological Seminary, and McMaster University.
Scrap Pile
Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story
by John Sumwalt
And the angel said to them, "Be not afraid; for behold I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger." And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased."
Luke 2:10-14
Then Herod when he saw that he had been tricked by the wisemen, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or younger...
Matthew 2:16
Mid-December: Snow fell lightly outside a big farmhouse, covering the fields around with a cool white blanket which would keep the fragile alfalfa roots safe until spring. Inside, happy voices could be heard laughing and singing over the soft twinkle of Elsie Barnett's baby grand piano, the one Herb had bought for her to replace her old upright. Herb was gone now, dead almost two years. They had used his memorial money to buy a second baby grand for the church for Elsie to play in worship. The two pianos had become Elsie's source of life. Music was her salvation. It gave her an important function in the church and community. How she loved to play and sing!
Byron Bain parked his pickup truck near the other vehicles next to the barn and made his way slowly, somewhat uncertainly, toward the light and warmth of the house. He could hear the music, the sweet blend of Elsie's playing and the voices of her guests floating out over the snow. It was to him like the tantalizing aroma of food cooking before a meal. It touched something deep inside of him, a hunger for acceptance, for physical comfort and love. The sound heightened his anticipation for the evening of fellowship to which he had been invited. And it whetted the ache of longing which had permeated his being for so many years. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps tonight he would be able to tell her.
Byron loved Elsie, always had for as long as he could remember. They had been in grade school together -- and he had neighbored with her and Herb for nearly forty years. He had never been able to tell her, had been too timid to tell her before she fell in love with Herb, hadn't even dared to consider the possibility as long as Herb was alive -- but now it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment. He stopped by regularly to give a hand with minor repairs and other little things she wasn't able to do for herself. Sometimes Elsie would offer him a cup of coffee and they would sit and talk.
He glanced through the window into the living room as he climbed up the steps onto the porch. Martin Van Able, the widower from up the road, was there, standing next to the piano looking over Elsie's right shoulder. The McCallums, Lucy and Burt, who used to live on the old Stringer place but had retired the year before last and moved into town, were sitting on the couch. Jim, Elsie's son, and his wife Janet were in the loveseat at the far end of the room. The twins, Heather and Holly, they were about eleven now, were sitting on the bench on either side of their grandmother. And their brother, little Jimmy, Jim and Janet's youngest and thus still called "little" though he was bigger than most other nine-year-olds, was standing on the other side of Elsie across from Martin, looking over her other shoulder.
"Let's sing my favorite carol," Byron heard Elsie call out. Her voice was only slightly muffled by the pane of glass that separated him from the living room. Elsie launched into "O Little Town of Bethlehem" as Byron crossed the porch and opened the door into the front hall. The sound of the voices swelled, now filling the whole house, as the familiar words about that faraway place and time seemed to lift them beyond the moment into some timeless, non-material dimension.
...how still we see thee lie
above thy deep and dreamless sleep
the silent stars go by
yet in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light
the hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight.
Byron entered the living room and stood next to the giant Christmas cactus on the oak stand just inside the doorway. It was hanging heavy with pink redbuds that looked as if they could burst into full flower at any moment. No one seemed to notice him come in. They were still caught up in the song.
"You girls sing the next verse," Elsie said. There was no doubt that they were her favorites. She had always been close to the twins. Jimmy had his own special place in her heart. He had been Herb's favorite. They had fished and hunted together, but the girls were her girls and that was all there was to it. She had taught them how to sing together and had had them sing often in the worship service at church. Their sweet voices melded together as one in angelic tones reminiscent of those that were heard that night over the shepherd's field.
...O holy child of Bethlehem
descend to us we pray
cast out our sin and enter in
be born in us today...
When they had sung all of the verses Elsie gave each of her girls a squeeze, got up from the bench, and declared, "Now before we have our ice cream and pie, I have an announcement to make." She stepped over next to Martin Van Able and took hold of his hand. There was a moment of quiet astonishment as Elsie's guests exchanged quizzical glances. No one had expected anything like this. The color drained from Byron's face, but no one noticed. Everyone was staring at Elsie.
"I expect this will come as something of a shock to all of you," she began, "but we couldn't wait to tell you. Martin and I are going to be married." She was glowing now. "Sometime next spring," she said. "He asked me last night and I accepted." And then, looking at their faces and seeing the amazement that was still in their eyes, she continued somewhat hesitantly, "I hope you will be happy for us." They all moved to embrace them and to speak the obligatory words of congratulations, all except Byron. He walked quietly out of the living room, picked up his coat, and left the house without a word.
After the hugs and a few awkward moments of silence as the news of this unexpected union was gradually absorbed into their collective consciousness, Elsie and Martin fielded a host of questions.
"Well, when did all of this come about?"
"How long have you two been conspiring together?"
"Where will you live?"
"What will become of the farm?"
"Who will be in the wedding?" one of the twins wanted to know. They were assured that they would both be flower girls and that Jimmy was to be the ring bearer.
And after everyone was satisfied that life would go on in an acceptable way, and they had begun to share Elsie and Martin's joy, they all settled down for a winter evening repast.
Elsie went into the kitchen to get the coffee and dessert. Jimmy sneaked out the back door to check on the dogs. Everyone else moved back to their original seats and the conversation gradually returned to the more mundane concerns of crops, weather, the price of corn, and the new dog track that had opened up in town. No one noticed that Byron was not there.
He was standing down by his pickup truck, staring back at the house. The door to the cab was half open, its interior dimly illuminated by a flickering dome light which was affixed to the center of the roof directly over the gun rack.
"To be so close," Byron thought, "after all these years. I know she loves me. How could she do this to me? What's wrong with me?" He screamed the words in his mind, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth hard together. The sound of laughter poured out from the living room, piercing the cold night air. It seemed to Byron that it grew louder and louder, ringing in his ears again and again. His heart began to pound, his throat tightened, he found it difficult to swallow, his breathing slowed and almost stopped. He gasped for breath. The lights in the house swam before his eyes. Byron thought for a moment that he was going to pass out in the snow. But something inside was driving him to resist -- to fight back. All the hurt and anger of a lifetime of failures and disappointments erupted from the nether regions of his soul like molten lava gushing out of a hot volcano. He reached into the cab and took the gun. In one motion he slid the gun from its case and cocked it, then he turned and moved deliberately toward the house.
The only thing he could remember when they questioned him later was the sound of the gun firing again and again. He would hear the echo of the shots resounding in his memory for as long as he lived. He could almost count them.
"Did I kill them all?" He finally forced himself to ask the question.
Elsie and the little boy were unhurt, they told him. The rest were dead.
Byron wished himself dead. As they put him in a cell and he heard the door close behind him, he wondered why he hadn't ended it for himself as well. Thinking of the pain he had caused Elsie was more than he could bear. There was nothing left for him now. He lay on the cell bed staring into the blackness, silently cursing the whole wasted life he had lived.
Near the end of that first long day, Byron was roused from his moribund trance by a flash of light which came through the narrow window over the commode next to the bed. When he stood on top of it, carefully positioning his feet on each side of the opening so as not to slip on the grimy porcelain, he could see a metal cross atop the spire of the church across the street. The cross had caught one of the last starry rays of the setting sun and reflected it mercifully through the window of his cell.
Byron clung to the edge of the window with one hand, and with the other he made a fist which he shook furiously in the direction of the cross. "Where were you when I needed you?" he shouted. "Why didn't you stop me?"
The following week there were three funerals on successive days at the church across the street from the jail. No one noticed Byron's eyes watching from the third floor window as seven caskets passed in and out the great doors of the church. On the last day as the four Barnett caskets were carried away in a parade of gray hearses, Byron looked for the first time since the night of his blind rage upon the faces of Elsie and Jimmy. He was glad that they had been spared and he tried to weep for them, but he found himself denied even the comfort of tears.
Christmas Eve came too soon that year. A heavy snow fell in big wet flakes from dark December clouds as the reluctant worshipers trudged through the slush, dutifully taking their places in well-worn pews. The church was soon full, as it had been for each of the funerals the week before, and the funeral atmosphere prevailed. There was no joy, no sense of anticipation. They greeted each other with subdued voices, whispering and nodding greetings as they cast furtive glances at the bereaved families who were also present in their usual places. It was almost as if the caskets were still open before them.
They went through the motions of worship, singing without feeling, repeating the prayers without thought. The minister was dreading the sermon. He didn't know what he could say that might penetrate the all-pervasive gloom.
The Christmas anthem came just before the sermon. Elsie was to play. She had insisted on it, said there was no reason to put it off. She had been through this before, and besides the music would help. So no one was surprised when she took her usual place at the keyboard in front of the baby grand. There were some murmurs though when Jimmy got up and sat down beside her on the bench. "He's going to turn the pages for her," someone whispered. But Elsie didn't need help with page-turning. Jimmy was there to sing. They sang the first verse together, tentatively in the beginning but then in perfect harmony as the congregation began to resonate with them and the music, the old woman in a trained alto voice well past its prime and the young boy in a pure perfect soprano:
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.
Elsie let Jimmy sing out alone on the second verse.
Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign...
Outside the snow had stopped and the clouds had begun to lift. Across the street Byron Bain stood precariously on his tiptoes atop the commode in his jail cell straining to get a full view of the church. He could hear the music faintly through a crack in the cell window, the heavenly blend of Elsie's playing and the sweet angelic voice of her grandson floating out over the snow. And then his eye was taken by a speck of light twinkling beyond the cross in the eastern sky, the first evening star, shining ever brighter moment by moment as it rose slowly over the dark world below.
"In the bleak midwinter," Jimmy sang, "a stable place sufficed the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ."
Author's Note: Verses 16-18 from the second chapter of Matthew are omitted from some of the lectionary pericopes. We don't like to hear about the slaughter of innocents at Christmastime -- we prefer Luke's more tranquil pastoral scenes. But Herod's rage and the massacre he orders as a result are an important part of the story. Jesus was born into the real world, after all, and it is in this real world of violence and suffering that he does his saving work. The tragic scene described in these three verses stands in stark contrast to the rest of the Christmas story as told by both Luke and Matthew. When these verses are read the congregation will feel their power -- and they will put in the congregation's minds the question which this story addresses.
Here is a possible order of worship combining this story with hymns and scripture:
First Reader: Luke 2:8-14
Duet: "O Little Town of Bethlehem" (verses 1-2)
Second Reader: Matthew 2:1-12
Duet: "O Little Town of Bethlehem" (verses 3-4)
First Reader: Matthew 2:13-18
Storyteller: "Bleak Midwinter: An R-Rated Christmas Story"
Solo: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verse 1)
Choir: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verses 2-3)
Congregation: "In the Bleak Midwinter" (verse 4)
Storyteller: Matthew 2:19-23
Congregation: "O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright"
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StoryShare, January 1, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2005 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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