Passionate Sense
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Passionate Sense" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Empty Full" by John Sumwalt
"What's Bothering You?" by C. David McKirachan
"Cleaning Up the Mess" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Passion Sunday presents us with a narrative so mind-boggling that it can be difficult to understand -- and in this week's edition of StoryShare Peter Andrew Smith tells of a young man who is really not sure what to make of this story. Like many of us, he struggles to make sense of the intense emotions stirred deep within by the Passion account -- but he gains a helpful perspective on the experience from a conversation with a fellow worshiper. Sometimes it's a chance encounter like the young man had that offers us the most enlightening way to see things, as John Sumwalt movingly relates in his discovery of a man with a very unusual moniker. Meanwhile, David McKirachan offers a pair of insightful meditations on better understanding intense feelings -- both those of ambivalence about Palm Sunday, and those of judgmental self-righteousness.
* * * * * * * * *
Passionate Sense
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 22:14--23:56
Suzanne began straightening hymnbooks and picking up leftover bulletins as soon people started leaving the church. Somehow worship didn't seem complete for her unless everything was ready for the next service. After a few minutes, the only one left in the church was a young man sitting in the back with his head bowed.
"Sorry," he said as she worked her way over to him. "I guess I should be leaving."
Suzanne motioned for him to remain. "You stay as long as you like. No one should ever be rushed out of church."
"Thanks," he said with a slight smile, and he bowed his head again.
She continued her trek through the pews but snuck an occasional glance his way. She thought the young man looked familiar, but she couldn't remember if he usually came by himself or with someone else.
Suzanne reached the final pew and deposited the collected papers in the recycling bin. She made sure the other doors were locked and went back into the sanctuary. The young man was still deep in thought. She quietly walked down the side aisle and slipped into the seat beside him.
He saw her and smiled again. "I suppose you need me to go so you can lock up."
"I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere," she said, extending her hand. "I've seen you here before, but I can't put a name to you. My name is Suzanne."
"Chuck," he said, shaking her hand. "I work at the hospital in the labs."
"Pleased to meet you," she said. "You still thinking about this morning's service?"
"I am. Hearing the story of Jesus all the way from the Last Supper to the Cross is pretty intense."
"It sure is," Suzanne said. "Every time I hear it I discover something new."
"Really?"
"Sure. This morning I was struck by how no one knew what to do with Jesus. After he was arrested they kept sending him here and there before Pilate finally condemned him. They seemed confused as to what to do with him."
"Huh," Chuck said. "I can understand that, because I'm not sure what to do with Jesus either."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he said, "there seems to be so much in the story -- his breaking bread with the disciples, his time in the garden, his trial, and his death on the cross. I'm not sure what all of it means." He looked into her face. "Why did Jesus die?"
"That's a good question, and I think the pastor could probably answer that one better than me," Suzanne said. "But I know it's because Jesus loves us and wanted to save us from sin and death."
"I've heard that explanation before, but I can't understand it up here," he said, pointing to his head.
"Hmm, I'm not sure that love ever makes sense up there." Suzanne rubbed her chin for a moment. "You got a wife or a girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
"You understand in your head why she loves you?"
"No," Chuck said with a smile. "Sometimes for the life of me I don't know why she does."
"But when she does something loving," Suzanne said, pointing to his chest, "you know it in there, don't you?"
"I sure do."
"I think that's why they call those parts of the gospel the Passion. We're meant to feel them in our hearts even when we can't sort them out in our heads."
"But how can I feel it in my heart?" he asked.
"Well, I use this time of year to walk with Jesus through the story."
"But it's Jesus' story, not mine."
Suzanne shook her head. "No, Chuck. I know that Jesus means the story to be ours too because he kept people with him the whole way -- and asks us to be there too."
"What do you mean?"
"Who was in the Upper Room?"
"The disciples," Chuck answered. "But wasn't Jesus alone in the garden when he prayed?"
"Naw, there were disciples with him, although they kept falling asleep. And they were there when he got arrested."
"Ah, Suzanne, but then they all ran away."
"Yeah, most of them might have, but remember that Peter followed. And I bet some of those fellows around when Jesus went on trial were followers, even if they didn't dare say it."
"But Jesus was alone after he was condemned."
"No, there were disciples around him then as well. They may have been at a distance and horrified by what they saw, but they were there to watch Jesus die."
Chuck thought about it for a while. "So you think that by hearing those stories and thinking about being there I'll understand them?"
"I'm not sure," Suzanne said. "But you'll experience them, and I think that is why the gospel writers wrote them for us."
Chuck looked at her for a few minutes and took her hand. "Thank you."
"Always a pleasure," Suzanne said. "And don't forget that the Passion isn't the only thing to experience this time of year."
Chuck tilted his head to one side. "What do you mean?"
"The journey to the cross isn't finished until we reach Easter morning," Suzanne said. "See you next Sunday?"
"I'll be here," Chuck said.
Suzanne followed him out the door as she knew that everything was finally ready for the next time of worship.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Empty Full
by John Sumwalt
Philippians 2:5-11
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.
-- Philippians 2:5-7
I have met some people with unusual names in my time, but none more peculiar than that of a man I met in a little place called Nethertown. I pulled into the QuickStop on the edge of town one day, filled the gas tank, and went into the store to buy a paper. The young man behind the counter appeared to have Down syndrome. He greeted me with a hearty "How ya doin'?" and a big warm grin, as if he had known me all of my life. I was about to hand him a dollar for the paper when I noticed his nametag. I was so taken aback that I stared at it for a moment and then, forgetting my manners altogether, read it aloud: "Empty Full?"
Empty laughed and said, "That's my name. Don't wear it out."
He offered no explanation of how he was given this strange appellation. I assumed it was a nickname that had some special meaning in his family or was bestowed upon him by friends, perhaps even tormentors, when he was in school. I got back into my car and pulled across the road to the cafe. There was a big sign in the window -- "fresh baked pie." I ordered a cup of coffee and a large piece of the strawberry/rhubarb with two scoops of vanilla ice-cream. The waitress looked familiar, and when I looked at her nametag I realized why. Her name was Joy Full.
I couldn't stop myself from stating the obvious: "You must be related to Empty over at the gas station." Joy smiled and said, "I sure am. He's my little brother." There was more than a little pride in her voice. And then she told me all about the Full family. Joy was the oldest of the five Full kids. There were her twin sisters Grace and Faith, another sister named Hope, and, Empty, the youngest of the five and the only boy. Joy had a twinkle in her eye when she told me that the twins, Grace and Faith, had married twin brothers, Walter and Rupert Less. "Can you imagine," she giggled, "Grace Less and Faith Less? We have great fun teasing them about it."
Then Joy told me the rest of the story. "Our parents thought it would give us a special pride to have first names that accented our surname. It was kind of fun in school, though we all got teased about it quite a bit. It was different when our little brother came along. He was named Ernest Marion Thomas Full Jr. after our father, who had been named for his father and his two grandfathers. We kids got to calling him EMT, and after a while EMT became Empty. Our parents were horrified at first, Mom especially. She thought it was cruel to call someone with Down syndrome 'Empty.' In time she saw the irony and appropriateness of it. Empty has always had a sweet disposition. Everyone loves him. He seems to have been born full of love and light -- always smiling, always giving hugs. He may appear to be empty to someone who notices only his disabilities. But everything changes the moment Empty smiles. Empty becomes full. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I get it," I told her as I wiped a tear from my eye.
"More pie?" Joy asked.
"No thanks," I said, "I'm full."
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
What's Bothering You?
by C. David McKirachan
Philippians 2:5-11
Palm Sunday has always been one of my least favorite days. As a kid, I never thought about it. My father was a pastor, and that time of year is pretty intense for anybody in the business (and anybody that happens to be near anybody in the business). But when I was ordained and installed and began to be the "anybody in the business," the season of Lent became intense in a whole new way. By the time I got to Palm Sunday, that "one of my least favorite days" became a set of stepping stones through a garden of thorns. By the time I got through with services I was emotionally wrung out, angry, and generally bent.
My theory was that I felt that way because of nervousness, exhaustion, and frustration about not having brought the kingdom with my sermon. I maintained this theory for a few years. Ministers aren't exempt from denseness. It took me a few years and then some to get a clue. It had nothing to do with understanding. It snuck up on me, stalked me, and jumped out of the coat closet with a "Boo!" before the bulb finally lit in my dim noggin.
It was a phrase from Philippians 2: "Have this mind among yourselves as was in Christ Jesus…" In other words, empathize, climb into His skin, consider how He thought, moved, felt. And on Palm Sunday what was He doing? Silently riding the foal of an ass while the crowd yelled "Whoopee!" Confronting the spiritual leaders of the nation who despised Him and wanted desperately to shut down the hubbub. Dumping the tables of the 50/50 ticket-sellers in the temple. Crying over Jerusalem. He was crying…
The usual response to someone crying from anybody in the business is caring, sharing, advocating, intervention. It's what we do. I'm trained to do it. My gut takes me there. My disciplines channel my gut to help make a difference. This isn't a stranger off the street -- this is my guy. He's the reason I'm "anybody in the business." And there He stands, alone. Everybody's having a pep rally and He's crying.
Palm Sunday and Easter are great days. Palms, lilies, anthems, nice dresses, patent leather, kids singing, choirs antheming all make a lovely tableau. But He's crying. The whole thing was driving me nuts. How could we be ignoring what He's going through?
I realized that if we were going to be faithful to His example, we can't. I also realized that the old name for Palm Sunday was Passion Sunday. I realized somebody else had been here before. They named the Sunday. They knew the day was an emotional rollercoaster for Him. So if we're to allow the season to be anything more than an ecclesiastical speed bump, we need to ride the coaster with Him.
I stopped trying to cork the feelings. I started paying attention to them and to what they mean to us. "Have this mind among yourselves…" His mind.
Cleaning Up the Mess
by C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 50:4-9a
I have always been a passionate defender of what I see as right. I get into confrontations at the oddest moments. I don't like to leave blatant or aggressive wrongness lying around like trash in the dining room. My tendency is to pick it up and let the person who dropped it know that it's not really appropriate to use our place of sharing and eating as their personal dump. I've always considered it part of my call to try to lift the moment by lifting others toward being better, clearer, more loving, more just.
Every once in a while I run into an opinion strongly represented, or at least forcefully represented, that yanks my chain. It reminds me of repression and prejudice, and I respond in ways that are anything but representational of grace or redemption. My goal then is less to clean up a mess and raise the bar than to win by dominating the moment with my own version of repression. I want to win.
Brain testing has demonstrated that when someone argues over politics they use the same part of the brain as when they discuss why the Giants are better than the Eagles. Now, as we all know, this is true -- but it is a rather primitive approach to any sort of argument. It's great for enthusiastic support of one's own colors and team but it's lousy for considered discussion, let alone decision-making of a high order.
We are like blind men and women bumping into walls, proclaiming that we know exactly what is going on and demanding that others agree with us. One definition for insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. We're certifiable. It doesn't matter if we're right. What matters is whether we are willing to represent the only one who ever got it totally right. He managed to be angry, but not to sin. He managed to hold on to grace, even in the face of arrogance and stupidity. He always represented grace and redemption.
It is very important to me that I get better at this. It's the best way to do it right. It's the best way to clean up my dining room.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**************
StoryShare, March 28, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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.
What's Up This Week
"Passionate Sense" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Empty Full" by John Sumwalt
"What's Bothering You?" by C. David McKirachan
"Cleaning Up the Mess" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Passion Sunday presents us with a narrative so mind-boggling that it can be difficult to understand -- and in this week's edition of StoryShare Peter Andrew Smith tells of a young man who is really not sure what to make of this story. Like many of us, he struggles to make sense of the intense emotions stirred deep within by the Passion account -- but he gains a helpful perspective on the experience from a conversation with a fellow worshiper. Sometimes it's a chance encounter like the young man had that offers us the most enlightening way to see things, as John Sumwalt movingly relates in his discovery of a man with a very unusual moniker. Meanwhile, David McKirachan offers a pair of insightful meditations on better understanding intense feelings -- both those of ambivalence about Palm Sunday, and those of judgmental self-righteousness.
* * * * * * * * *
Passionate Sense
by Peter Andrew Smith
Luke 22:14--23:56
Suzanne began straightening hymnbooks and picking up leftover bulletins as soon people started leaving the church. Somehow worship didn't seem complete for her unless everything was ready for the next service. After a few minutes, the only one left in the church was a young man sitting in the back with his head bowed.
"Sorry," he said as she worked her way over to him. "I guess I should be leaving."
Suzanne motioned for him to remain. "You stay as long as you like. No one should ever be rushed out of church."
"Thanks," he said with a slight smile, and he bowed his head again.
She continued her trek through the pews but snuck an occasional glance his way. She thought the young man looked familiar, but she couldn't remember if he usually came by himself or with someone else.
Suzanne reached the final pew and deposited the collected papers in the recycling bin. She made sure the other doors were locked and went back into the sanctuary. The young man was still deep in thought. She quietly walked down the side aisle and slipped into the seat beside him.
He saw her and smiled again. "I suppose you need me to go so you can lock up."
"I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere," she said, extending her hand. "I've seen you here before, but I can't put a name to you. My name is Suzanne."
"Chuck," he said, shaking her hand. "I work at the hospital in the labs."
"Pleased to meet you," she said. "You still thinking about this morning's service?"
"I am. Hearing the story of Jesus all the way from the Last Supper to the Cross is pretty intense."
"It sure is," Suzanne said. "Every time I hear it I discover something new."
"Really?"
"Sure. This morning I was struck by how no one knew what to do with Jesus. After he was arrested they kept sending him here and there before Pilate finally condemned him. They seemed confused as to what to do with him."
"Huh," Chuck said. "I can understand that, because I'm not sure what to do with Jesus either."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he said, "there seems to be so much in the story -- his breaking bread with the disciples, his time in the garden, his trial, and his death on the cross. I'm not sure what all of it means." He looked into her face. "Why did Jesus die?"
"That's a good question, and I think the pastor could probably answer that one better than me," Suzanne said. "But I know it's because Jesus loves us and wanted to save us from sin and death."
"I've heard that explanation before, but I can't understand it up here," he said, pointing to his head.
"Hmm, I'm not sure that love ever makes sense up there." Suzanne rubbed her chin for a moment. "You got a wife or a girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
"You understand in your head why she loves you?"
"No," Chuck said with a smile. "Sometimes for the life of me I don't know why she does."
"But when she does something loving," Suzanne said, pointing to his chest, "you know it in there, don't you?"
"I sure do."
"I think that's why they call those parts of the gospel the Passion. We're meant to feel them in our hearts even when we can't sort them out in our heads."
"But how can I feel it in my heart?" he asked.
"Well, I use this time of year to walk with Jesus through the story."
"But it's Jesus' story, not mine."
Suzanne shook her head. "No, Chuck. I know that Jesus means the story to be ours too because he kept people with him the whole way -- and asks us to be there too."
"What do you mean?"
"Who was in the Upper Room?"
"The disciples," Chuck answered. "But wasn't Jesus alone in the garden when he prayed?"
"Naw, there were disciples with him, although they kept falling asleep. And they were there when he got arrested."
"Ah, Suzanne, but then they all ran away."
"Yeah, most of them might have, but remember that Peter followed. And I bet some of those fellows around when Jesus went on trial were followers, even if they didn't dare say it."
"But Jesus was alone after he was condemned."
"No, there were disciples around him then as well. They may have been at a distance and horrified by what they saw, but they were there to watch Jesus die."
Chuck thought about it for a while. "So you think that by hearing those stories and thinking about being there I'll understand them?"
"I'm not sure," Suzanne said. "But you'll experience them, and I think that is why the gospel writers wrote them for us."
Chuck looked at her for a few minutes and took her hand. "Thank you."
"Always a pleasure," Suzanne said. "And don't forget that the Passion isn't the only thing to experience this time of year."
Chuck tilted his head to one side. "What do you mean?"
"The journey to the cross isn't finished until we reach Easter morning," Suzanne said. "See you next Sunday?"
"I'll be here," Chuck said.
Suzanne followed him out the door as she knew that everything was finally ready for the next time of worship.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Empty Full
by John Sumwalt
Philippians 2:5-11
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.
-- Philippians 2:5-7
I have met some people with unusual names in my time, but none more peculiar than that of a man I met in a little place called Nethertown. I pulled into the QuickStop on the edge of town one day, filled the gas tank, and went into the store to buy a paper. The young man behind the counter appeared to have Down syndrome. He greeted me with a hearty "How ya doin'?" and a big warm grin, as if he had known me all of my life. I was about to hand him a dollar for the paper when I noticed his nametag. I was so taken aback that I stared at it for a moment and then, forgetting my manners altogether, read it aloud: "Empty Full?"
Empty laughed and said, "That's my name. Don't wear it out."
He offered no explanation of how he was given this strange appellation. I assumed it was a nickname that had some special meaning in his family or was bestowed upon him by friends, perhaps even tormentors, when he was in school. I got back into my car and pulled across the road to the cafe. There was a big sign in the window -- "fresh baked pie." I ordered a cup of coffee and a large piece of the strawberry/rhubarb with two scoops of vanilla ice-cream. The waitress looked familiar, and when I looked at her nametag I realized why. Her name was Joy Full.
I couldn't stop myself from stating the obvious: "You must be related to Empty over at the gas station." Joy smiled and said, "I sure am. He's my little brother." There was more than a little pride in her voice. And then she told me all about the Full family. Joy was the oldest of the five Full kids. There were her twin sisters Grace and Faith, another sister named Hope, and, Empty, the youngest of the five and the only boy. Joy had a twinkle in her eye when she told me that the twins, Grace and Faith, had married twin brothers, Walter and Rupert Less. "Can you imagine," she giggled, "Grace Less and Faith Less? We have great fun teasing them about it."
Then Joy told me the rest of the story. "Our parents thought it would give us a special pride to have first names that accented our surname. It was kind of fun in school, though we all got teased about it quite a bit. It was different when our little brother came along. He was named Ernest Marion Thomas Full Jr. after our father, who had been named for his father and his two grandfathers. We kids got to calling him EMT, and after a while EMT became Empty. Our parents were horrified at first, Mom especially. She thought it was cruel to call someone with Down syndrome 'Empty.' In time she saw the irony and appropriateness of it. Empty has always had a sweet disposition. Everyone loves him. He seems to have been born full of love and light -- always smiling, always giving hugs. He may appear to be empty to someone who notices only his disabilities. But everything changes the moment Empty smiles. Empty becomes full. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I get it," I told her as I wiped a tear from my eye.
"More pie?" Joy asked.
"No thanks," I said, "I'm full."
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord's United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don't Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
What's Bothering You?
by C. David McKirachan
Philippians 2:5-11
Palm Sunday has always been one of my least favorite days. As a kid, I never thought about it. My father was a pastor, and that time of year is pretty intense for anybody in the business (and anybody that happens to be near anybody in the business). But when I was ordained and installed and began to be the "anybody in the business," the season of Lent became intense in a whole new way. By the time I got to Palm Sunday, that "one of my least favorite days" became a set of stepping stones through a garden of thorns. By the time I got through with services I was emotionally wrung out, angry, and generally bent.
My theory was that I felt that way because of nervousness, exhaustion, and frustration about not having brought the kingdom with my sermon. I maintained this theory for a few years. Ministers aren't exempt from denseness. It took me a few years and then some to get a clue. It had nothing to do with understanding. It snuck up on me, stalked me, and jumped out of the coat closet with a "Boo!" before the bulb finally lit in my dim noggin.
It was a phrase from Philippians 2: "Have this mind among yourselves as was in Christ Jesus…" In other words, empathize, climb into His skin, consider how He thought, moved, felt. And on Palm Sunday what was He doing? Silently riding the foal of an ass while the crowd yelled "Whoopee!" Confronting the spiritual leaders of the nation who despised Him and wanted desperately to shut down the hubbub. Dumping the tables of the 50/50 ticket-sellers in the temple. Crying over Jerusalem. He was crying…
The usual response to someone crying from anybody in the business is caring, sharing, advocating, intervention. It's what we do. I'm trained to do it. My gut takes me there. My disciplines channel my gut to help make a difference. This isn't a stranger off the street -- this is my guy. He's the reason I'm "anybody in the business." And there He stands, alone. Everybody's having a pep rally and He's crying.
Palm Sunday and Easter are great days. Palms, lilies, anthems, nice dresses, patent leather, kids singing, choirs antheming all make a lovely tableau. But He's crying. The whole thing was driving me nuts. How could we be ignoring what He's going through?
I realized that if we were going to be faithful to His example, we can't. I also realized that the old name for Palm Sunday was Passion Sunday. I realized somebody else had been here before. They named the Sunday. They knew the day was an emotional rollercoaster for Him. So if we're to allow the season to be anything more than an ecclesiastical speed bump, we need to ride the coaster with Him.
I stopped trying to cork the feelings. I started paying attention to them and to what they mean to us. "Have this mind among yourselves…" His mind.
Cleaning Up the Mess
by C. David McKirachan
Isaiah 50:4-9a
I have always been a passionate defender of what I see as right. I get into confrontations at the oddest moments. I don't like to leave blatant or aggressive wrongness lying around like trash in the dining room. My tendency is to pick it up and let the person who dropped it know that it's not really appropriate to use our place of sharing and eating as their personal dump. I've always considered it part of my call to try to lift the moment by lifting others toward being better, clearer, more loving, more just.
Every once in a while I run into an opinion strongly represented, or at least forcefully represented, that yanks my chain. It reminds me of repression and prejudice, and I respond in ways that are anything but representational of grace or redemption. My goal then is less to clean up a mess and raise the bar than to win by dominating the moment with my own version of repression. I want to win.
Brain testing has demonstrated that when someone argues over politics they use the same part of the brain as when they discuss why the Giants are better than the Eagles. Now, as we all know, this is true -- but it is a rather primitive approach to any sort of argument. It's great for enthusiastic support of one's own colors and team but it's lousy for considered discussion, let alone decision-making of a high order.
We are like blind men and women bumping into walls, proclaiming that we know exactly what is going on and demanding that others agree with us. One definition for insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. We're certifiable. It doesn't matter if we're right. What matters is whether we are willing to represent the only one who ever got it totally right. He managed to be angry, but not to sin. He managed to hold on to grace, even in the face of arrogance and stupidity. He always represented grace and redemption.
It is very important to me that I get better at this. It's the best way to do it right. It's the best way to clean up my dining room.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**************
StoryShare, March 28, 2010, issue.
Copyright 2010 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.
