New Coke, Old Vines
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Contents
"New Coke, Old Vines" by Keith Hewitt
"Breakthrough!" by B. Kathleen Fannin
* * * * * * * *
New Coke, Old Vines
by Keith Hewitt
John 15:1-8
Jeremiah Lane -- "Pastor Jerry" to the handful of people sitting around the long folding table -- flipped through the packet of papers without looking at them, pausing occasionally to glance at a particularly striking chart, or read a highlighted passage buried in the paragraphs that marched through the pages like a parade of insects on their way to devour a freshly dead carcass.
If the papers and the information therein were not exactly an obituary, they were at least an application for hospice care, a politely worded statement that Lakeland Church, active and thriving for the better part of a century, had reached its dotage and was now searching for the appropriate time and place in which to drop dead. Membership, attendance, giving... they were all falling, and anyone who could plot a trendline in Excel could see the endpoint clearly.
Only congressmen and presidents can continue to spend when expenses outstrip income year after year; pastors and treasurers, secretaries and church committees know that it will not -- cannot -- last forever.
And yet, to see it in print... to see the colored lines inching their way toward the bottom of each chart... it became suddenly real. Suddenly frightening, nauseating, like a cold lump of slush forming in the belly and radiating up the spine.
"How did we get here?" Joanne, at the far end of the table, asked softly.
"It's that damned renovation on the school wing -- pardon my French, Pastor," the man across from her -- Walter -- said hastily, when he realized what he'd said. Skipping past his affront, not even seeing Jeremiah wave off the apology, he rolled on. "The renovation cost way too much -- it was too ambitious. That note is dragging us down like a bag of rocks."
"But we needed it!" the woman shot back. "You know what it was like. The ceiling was ruined, the floors were trashed, the plumbing was bad and the Health Department wouldn't even let us drink out of the taps in there. It had to be brought up to code if we were going to keep using it."
The man snorted. "A waste of money. We could've seen that we wouldn't need that space. Could've put the kids in here, somewhere."
Jeremiah fought a sad half-smile... bedtime conversation in that household was likely to be a bit frosty, tonight. He put the sheaf of papers down and folded his hands on the table. "I don't think that's going to help," he said quietly. "You can debate as long as you want to about the renovation -- you might recall that we did debate it. But nobody foresaw our youth leaving us the way they have, or families leaving the way they have. A seventy percent drop in Sunday school attendance is nothing we could have predicted. But the truth is, even if we didn't have the renovation note to pay, it wouldn't make any difference in the long run. Right, Clare?"
He looked toward the treasurer, who nodded hesitantly. "That's right. I had a chart that I didn't include, where you can see that the trendline would have shallowed a bit, but still would have continued down. And you can make the argument that without support from those families that were in attendance over at least part of the last five years, the drop might have even been steeper." She hesitated, then shrugged apologetically, saying nothing more.
What else was there to say?
Jeremiah nodded. "I think we can all see where this is going. We can -- we're going to -- look at cutting expenses, but if we don't make some radical changes, we're just going to be putting our trays in the upright position and putting our heads between our knees while this plane slams into a mountain."
"Changes? We were doing everything right," one of the other men said plaintively. "We had greeters, we did the nametag thing, we did little socials every Sunday, and tried to get small groups going. And there's the family movie night, and the parents' night out thing... we were doing it right!"
"Were we?" Jeremiah challenged, looking from face to face, around the table. "Were we, really?"
He waited...
Finally, someone took the bait. "What do you mean?" Walter challenged. "We were trying all of the church-growing gimmicks we could."
Thank you! Jeremiah breathed silently, and leaned forward. "We did. We did, and it turned us into New Coke."
Blank stares. A few blinks...
Jeremiah picked up his can of Coca Cola and glanced at it as he went on. "About twenty-five or thirty years ago, the executives at Coca Cola thought that Coke was falling out of favor with the American public. Market research convinced them that Americans wanted -- needed -- something else from their cola drinks. So they tinkered with the formula, plugged it until Hell wouldn't have it -- pardon my French --" he winked at Walter, "and then they launched it as New Coke. The idea was that the old Coke was just supposed to fade away and be irrelevant."
There were a few nods, now, people remembering...
"Bad news for them: people hated it. They hated it individually, and they hated it in droves. Psychiatrists that listened to the phone calls coming into Coca Cola customer service said it was like people were talking about the death of a family member. In three months, New Coke was dead."
Clare nodded. "I remember, now. But what does that have to do with us?"
"I was looking at this and wondering -- what if the real problem is that we're trying to give people New Coke, when there was nothing wrong with the original? Sure, we have to live in society, we have to address needs, but what is the deepest, most fundamental need that anyone has? That everyone has? The need to know Christ."
He stood up, pulled a Bible off the shelf, and dropped it on the table. "Remember all the trouble we went through writing a mission statement? All we had to do was look in here. Joanne, when you're telling your neighbors about what we do here, what do you tell them?"
Her eyebrows drew together. "Depending on who it is, I might talk about movie night, or parents' night out. Maybe small groups."
"Did you ever think to tell them that we get together every Sunday to worship and praise God? Walter! You're a greeter -- when you talk to people that come in the door, what do you tell them?"
He frowned. "I talk about the church... the different programs. What we do. Give them our website."
"Did you ever tell one of them what Christ has done for you? Did you ever tell one of them what redemption and grace are all about in your life? I know you feel those things, we've talked about them -- but have you ever shared that with a newcomer?"
Jeremiah went from face to face, gauging their reaction. "Yes, we have social responsibilities -- we're here to help our neighbors. But Job One is to share the love of Jesus Christ with everyone we meet. I've let you down -- I've gotten so wrapped up in treating symptoms that I forgot about the disease."
He flipped open the Bible, then, thumbed through pages until he found what he was looking for. He started to read it from the page, finished the passage looking up at his team. "He said, 'I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me, you can do nothing.' "
He closed the book, tapped it with one finger. "I think this particular branch has grown a little far from the vine, and it started with me. It started with me, because I got so wrapped up in doing all the other things that I thought would grow the church that I lost sight of the most important thing. So I'm telling you this now: It is my intention to go back to the vine, back to the central message of Jesus Christ. If we will do that -- and mean it -- then I think we'll see amazing things happen here."
"Do you think that will work?" a voice asked from the far end of the table.
Jeremiah smiled. "Let's say it's a 2,000 year old business model that hasn't gone out of date, yet. Seriously, we've already proven we can do nothing. Now it's time to do something."
Together, they began to plan... and slowly, a new bud began to take shape on an old, old vine.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Breakthrough!
by B. Kathleen Fannin
1 John 4:7-21
CRACK! Suddenly the universe went into slow motion. She was intently aware, in a way she had never before experienced. She was falling, slowly, falling.
Hey! She was falling! Yet she seemed to be floating, drifting down gently toward the ground. Was she dreaming? No, she was falling. And, much to her surprise, she wasn't afraid.
She had come to the woods to find some space away from the city, to walk, think, sort things out. The forest had beckoned, inviting her into its secret hidden spaces filled with noises that were gentle to the soul. Birds, insects, small scurrying creatures, each added their soothing sounds to the forest's melody. The satisfying crunch of leaves beneath her boots offered counter-cadence as she wandered deeper and deeper into places the forest only offered those who came to mend crisis-burdened psyches and shattered hearts. The trees had seemed to step aside as she walked, creating a path, directing her toward one particular tree, which, when she saw it, she knew she had to climb.
That was the first time this day she had told herself she was crazy. She hadn't climbed a tree in years! But something deep within her, almost instinctual, required her to climb this one.
The higher she climbed, the higher she felt the urge to go. She had to get up, out of the shade, into the sunlight beyond. She had to climb toward the sky, toward... God? Abruptly she halted her reach for the next branch. God?
She wasn't entirely sure she even believed in God. God was the furthest thing from her mind, definitely not part of her life!
Feeling a bit stunned, she decided to sit down. She leaned her back against the tree and slid down onto a branch.
BIG MISTAKE! Her momentum added force to her weight: the branch couldn't support both. With an ear-splitting crack it snapped, and now she was falling...
But this was like no fall she had ever experienced. It was as if some invisible force had grabbed her when the branch collapsed and was now slowing her descent.
"That's it!" she thought. "I've lost my mind. I know I've been under a lot of pressure. I probably should have come walking months ago, to ease the tension, to regain perspective. But there was no time. And now it's too late. I've gone over the edge."
"No," something like a voice seemed to say inside her head. "You haven't gone over the edge; you've only fallen from a tree."
"Oh, fine!" she thought. "I've fallen out of a tree but am floating to the ground, not plummeting, and I'm hearing a voice in my head telling me I'm not nuts!"
Expecting the jarring impact of flesh and bone with solid earth to end her conscious existence at any moment, she marveled again at the sense of peace she felt. And then, unbelievably, she was down. She was down on the ground! And she was UNHURT!
"What's going on here?" she wondered in awe.
"I told you," the head-voice said, "You fell; I caught you."
"Who ARE you?" she questioned.
"Oh, I think you know," the voice responded. "You're just having trouble admitting I exist."
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed with sudden understanding. "My GOD!"
-- from 56 Lectionary Stories For Preaching, Cycle B (1-55673-651-7) [CSS Publishing Company, Inc.: 1993], pp. 59-60.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 6, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"New Coke, Old Vines" by Keith Hewitt
"Breakthrough!" by B. Kathleen Fannin
* * * * * * * *
New Coke, Old Vines
by Keith Hewitt
John 15:1-8
Jeremiah Lane -- "Pastor Jerry" to the handful of people sitting around the long folding table -- flipped through the packet of papers without looking at them, pausing occasionally to glance at a particularly striking chart, or read a highlighted passage buried in the paragraphs that marched through the pages like a parade of insects on their way to devour a freshly dead carcass.
If the papers and the information therein were not exactly an obituary, they were at least an application for hospice care, a politely worded statement that Lakeland Church, active and thriving for the better part of a century, had reached its dotage and was now searching for the appropriate time and place in which to drop dead. Membership, attendance, giving... they were all falling, and anyone who could plot a trendline in Excel could see the endpoint clearly.
Only congressmen and presidents can continue to spend when expenses outstrip income year after year; pastors and treasurers, secretaries and church committees know that it will not -- cannot -- last forever.
And yet, to see it in print... to see the colored lines inching their way toward the bottom of each chart... it became suddenly real. Suddenly frightening, nauseating, like a cold lump of slush forming in the belly and radiating up the spine.
"How did we get here?" Joanne, at the far end of the table, asked softly.
"It's that damned renovation on the school wing -- pardon my French, Pastor," the man across from her -- Walter -- said hastily, when he realized what he'd said. Skipping past his affront, not even seeing Jeremiah wave off the apology, he rolled on. "The renovation cost way too much -- it was too ambitious. That note is dragging us down like a bag of rocks."
"But we needed it!" the woman shot back. "You know what it was like. The ceiling was ruined, the floors were trashed, the plumbing was bad and the Health Department wouldn't even let us drink out of the taps in there. It had to be brought up to code if we were going to keep using it."
The man snorted. "A waste of money. We could've seen that we wouldn't need that space. Could've put the kids in here, somewhere."
Jeremiah fought a sad half-smile... bedtime conversation in that household was likely to be a bit frosty, tonight. He put the sheaf of papers down and folded his hands on the table. "I don't think that's going to help," he said quietly. "You can debate as long as you want to about the renovation -- you might recall that we did debate it. But nobody foresaw our youth leaving us the way they have, or families leaving the way they have. A seventy percent drop in Sunday school attendance is nothing we could have predicted. But the truth is, even if we didn't have the renovation note to pay, it wouldn't make any difference in the long run. Right, Clare?"
He looked toward the treasurer, who nodded hesitantly. "That's right. I had a chart that I didn't include, where you can see that the trendline would have shallowed a bit, but still would have continued down. And you can make the argument that without support from those families that were in attendance over at least part of the last five years, the drop might have even been steeper." She hesitated, then shrugged apologetically, saying nothing more.
What else was there to say?
Jeremiah nodded. "I think we can all see where this is going. We can -- we're going to -- look at cutting expenses, but if we don't make some radical changes, we're just going to be putting our trays in the upright position and putting our heads between our knees while this plane slams into a mountain."
"Changes? We were doing everything right," one of the other men said plaintively. "We had greeters, we did the nametag thing, we did little socials every Sunday, and tried to get small groups going. And there's the family movie night, and the parents' night out thing... we were doing it right!"
"Were we?" Jeremiah challenged, looking from face to face, around the table. "Were we, really?"
He waited...
Finally, someone took the bait. "What do you mean?" Walter challenged. "We were trying all of the church-growing gimmicks we could."
Thank you! Jeremiah breathed silently, and leaned forward. "We did. We did, and it turned us into New Coke."
Blank stares. A few blinks...
Jeremiah picked up his can of Coca Cola and glanced at it as he went on. "About twenty-five or thirty years ago, the executives at Coca Cola thought that Coke was falling out of favor with the American public. Market research convinced them that Americans wanted -- needed -- something else from their cola drinks. So they tinkered with the formula, plugged it until Hell wouldn't have it -- pardon my French --" he winked at Walter, "and then they launched it as New Coke. The idea was that the old Coke was just supposed to fade away and be irrelevant."
There were a few nods, now, people remembering...
"Bad news for them: people hated it. They hated it individually, and they hated it in droves. Psychiatrists that listened to the phone calls coming into Coca Cola customer service said it was like people were talking about the death of a family member. In three months, New Coke was dead."
Clare nodded. "I remember, now. But what does that have to do with us?"
"I was looking at this and wondering -- what if the real problem is that we're trying to give people New Coke, when there was nothing wrong with the original? Sure, we have to live in society, we have to address needs, but what is the deepest, most fundamental need that anyone has? That everyone has? The need to know Christ."
He stood up, pulled a Bible off the shelf, and dropped it on the table. "Remember all the trouble we went through writing a mission statement? All we had to do was look in here. Joanne, when you're telling your neighbors about what we do here, what do you tell them?"
Her eyebrows drew together. "Depending on who it is, I might talk about movie night, or parents' night out. Maybe small groups."
"Did you ever think to tell them that we get together every Sunday to worship and praise God? Walter! You're a greeter -- when you talk to people that come in the door, what do you tell them?"
He frowned. "I talk about the church... the different programs. What we do. Give them our website."
"Did you ever tell one of them what Christ has done for you? Did you ever tell one of them what redemption and grace are all about in your life? I know you feel those things, we've talked about them -- but have you ever shared that with a newcomer?"
Jeremiah went from face to face, gauging their reaction. "Yes, we have social responsibilities -- we're here to help our neighbors. But Job One is to share the love of Jesus Christ with everyone we meet. I've let you down -- I've gotten so wrapped up in treating symptoms that I forgot about the disease."
He flipped open the Bible, then, thumbed through pages until he found what he was looking for. He started to read it from the page, finished the passage looking up at his team. "He said, 'I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me, you can do nothing.' "
He closed the book, tapped it with one finger. "I think this particular branch has grown a little far from the vine, and it started with me. It started with me, because I got so wrapped up in doing all the other things that I thought would grow the church that I lost sight of the most important thing. So I'm telling you this now: It is my intention to go back to the vine, back to the central message of Jesus Christ. If we will do that -- and mean it -- then I think we'll see amazing things happen here."
"Do you think that will work?" a voice asked from the far end of the table.
Jeremiah smiled. "Let's say it's a 2,000 year old business model that hasn't gone out of date, yet. Seriously, we've already proven we can do nothing. Now it's time to do something."
Together, they began to plan... and slowly, a new bud began to take shape on an old, old vine.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Breakthrough!
by B. Kathleen Fannin
1 John 4:7-21
CRACK! Suddenly the universe went into slow motion. She was intently aware, in a way she had never before experienced. She was falling, slowly, falling.
Hey! She was falling! Yet she seemed to be floating, drifting down gently toward the ground. Was she dreaming? No, she was falling. And, much to her surprise, she wasn't afraid.
She had come to the woods to find some space away from the city, to walk, think, sort things out. The forest had beckoned, inviting her into its secret hidden spaces filled with noises that were gentle to the soul. Birds, insects, small scurrying creatures, each added their soothing sounds to the forest's melody. The satisfying crunch of leaves beneath her boots offered counter-cadence as she wandered deeper and deeper into places the forest only offered those who came to mend crisis-burdened psyches and shattered hearts. The trees had seemed to step aside as she walked, creating a path, directing her toward one particular tree, which, when she saw it, she knew she had to climb.
That was the first time this day she had told herself she was crazy. She hadn't climbed a tree in years! But something deep within her, almost instinctual, required her to climb this one.
The higher she climbed, the higher she felt the urge to go. She had to get up, out of the shade, into the sunlight beyond. She had to climb toward the sky, toward... God? Abruptly she halted her reach for the next branch. God?
She wasn't entirely sure she even believed in God. God was the furthest thing from her mind, definitely not part of her life!
Feeling a bit stunned, she decided to sit down. She leaned her back against the tree and slid down onto a branch.
BIG MISTAKE! Her momentum added force to her weight: the branch couldn't support both. With an ear-splitting crack it snapped, and now she was falling...
But this was like no fall she had ever experienced. It was as if some invisible force had grabbed her when the branch collapsed and was now slowing her descent.
"That's it!" she thought. "I've lost my mind. I know I've been under a lot of pressure. I probably should have come walking months ago, to ease the tension, to regain perspective. But there was no time. And now it's too late. I've gone over the edge."
"No," something like a voice seemed to say inside her head. "You haven't gone over the edge; you've only fallen from a tree."
"Oh, fine!" she thought. "I've fallen out of a tree but am floating to the ground, not plummeting, and I'm hearing a voice in my head telling me I'm not nuts!"
Expecting the jarring impact of flesh and bone with solid earth to end her conscious existence at any moment, she marveled again at the sense of peace she felt. And then, unbelievably, she was down. She was down on the ground! And she was UNHURT!
"What's going on here?" she wondered in awe.
"I told you," the head-voice said, "You fell; I caught you."
"Who ARE you?" she questioned.
"Oh, I think you know," the voice responded. "You're just having trouble admitting I exist."
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed with sudden understanding. "My GOD!"
-- from 56 Lectionary Stories For Preaching, Cycle B (1-55673-651-7) [CSS Publishing Company, Inc.: 1993], pp. 59-60.
*****************************************
StoryShare, May 6, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
