The Pastor's Past
Stories
Contents
"The Pastor's Past" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
The Pastor's Past
by Sandra Herrmann
Acts 10:34-43
Our new preacher was a formidable figure in his black robes with velvet panels. A large man as it was, those robes, swirling around him as he strode from side to side on the platform, had impact. So did his shock of red hair, and his finger, that he used to emphasize his point to the small crowd in the church.
It was Easter, and the first time I’d heard him speak.
“Don’t think,” he was saying, “that God cannot understand you! God understands you better than you can understand yourself!” Now the pointing finger aimed at the congregation. “You have no idea why you cannot abandon your sinful lifestyle! You can’t explain why your temper is so often out of control, why you nag your wife, scream at your children! You try to stop your overeating and then gobble down half a cake you said was for your child’s birthday party! You lay in the booze and hide it from your family so you can drink -- you think -- in secret! You tell your wife you have to work overtime, and then you go out to the bar and pick up some sleazy woman and douse yourself with aftershave to drown out the smell of booze and that woman so your wife won’t suspect!” A gasp swept over the congregation. I sat up a little straighter. This guy had guts!
His voice dropped. His hand found the Bible on the pulpit as he crept to the front of the platform. Raising the Bible, he said, “You know what the Good Book says, but you don’t follow it. You think that you’re exempt from the commandments? Or do you think that God doesn’t see?” He strode back to the pulpit and took a drink of water, then moved back to the center of the platform.
“Now I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, ‘What would a preacher know about temptation?’ Well, I wasn’t always a preacher! In my youth, I was a soldier. I signed up to go overseas and “keep the terrorists under control.” But it was way worse than I had expected, I can tell you. Mud and dust and explosions and death and destruction. Most of the guys smoked weed or drank or even worse -- you know, that’s the part of the world where they grow the poppies that make hard drugs -- and if we weren’t on duty, we were using something to make the fear and noise go away. We got into fights, got into trouble with the locals, and I was right in the thick of that. When I came back home, it was BORING! Horrible as it was, I’d gotten used to noise and trouble and chaos. It was the lack of chaos that got me into trouble back here at home. I went out to drink, really looking for a fight, and I usually got plenty of both.
“That’s right,” he nodded, as the congregation squirmed, “I was just about at the bottom of my personal barrel, down there with the dregs of society.
“Went to AA twice because my doctor said it was my only hope. Never went back; those people were too stupid for me to hang around with.”
There was a slight titter among the listeners.
“Yeah, that’s right. I was too smart for the program. Too smart to get caught. But my wife wasn’t fooled. She told me that if I was too smart to stick with AA I was too smart to stay with her, and she left me. Filed for divorce, wouldn’t take my phone calls, wouldn’t see me. I decided that there was no point in me trying with her, signed the papers and let her go. We hadn’t had any kids, which suited me, but it had made her unhappy.
“So there I was, homeless, wifeless, jobless. My cousin took me in, over the objections of his wife, and on one condition: I couldn’t use drugs or alcohol. I agreed, rather than sleep in some shelter or on a park bench. But I brought home a woman I met in a bar, and my cousin’s wife slammed into my room, ordered the gal out, and told me I was no longer welcome. I was shocked, and scared, and started doing something I hadn’t done in a long time: I cried, and begged for another chance. I started to make her some promises, but she told me she didn’t believe I could keep a promise, and she wanted me out. Told me my cigarette smoking was stinking up the whole house, that my room stank, that I needed a bath, to brush my teeth.”
He stopped his pacing.
“My cousin’s wife told me I was headed for hell, and I told her I was already there.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the church that day. Everybody stared at him as he looked down at his shoes for a long moment.
The preacher finally looked up.
“I walked out of my cousin’s house and down the street, intending to kill myself. I had a couple of ideas about how to do that. I figured I’d go to the Vet’s House downtown. Somebody there might know how I could get hold of a gun. Or maybe I’d just cruise around the downtown streets until I could buy enough pills to kill myself.
“But God had a different idea. I ran into a street-corner preacher. You know, one of those guys with the pamphlets and pocket New Testaments who tells you the end is at hand. I came around the corner, not watching where I was going, and I almost knocked him over.
“Well, I was embarrassed. I helped him to his feet, and apologized. Chased down some of his handouts. But when I handed them to him, he said, ‘Son, don’t do it.’ All I could say was, ‘Huh?’
‘Don’t do it, son. The world can be a hard place, but God still loves you and has a plan for you, and that doesn’t include offing yourself.’ He was looking me right in the eye. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t break eye contact. I just stood there, listening, as he told me that God wanted me to be at peace. That God had good things in store for me, and a job for me to do for Him. ‘If you kill yourself, you’ll miss all the good stuff God has in mind for you.’ He gave me one of those pocket Testaments, and he opened that book to Acts 10:43, and he read it to me:
“EVERYONE WHO BELIEVES IN HIM RECEIVES FORGIVENESS OF SINS THROUGH HIS NAME.”
“I told that man, ‘You have no idea what I’ve done.’ But he said, ‘I don’t have to know. God knows. And more, God knows why you’ve done what you’ve done, and He forgives you.’
“He led me into a little restaurant down the street and bought me a meal and we sat and talked for the better part of an hour. He gave me the address of a church and told me the pastor there made it a point to help guys like me. And before he walked out that door, he gave me his card and the promise that I could call anytime day or night. And then he prayed over me. Told God to show Himself to me, because I couldn’t live without that.
“And just like that, I thought I saw a golden light, flowing from that pastor’s hands to the space around us, and filling the dark corners of that room, and filling me with the most amazing peace I’d ever experienced! I told the pastor what was happening, and he said, ‘Just open your heart, Ken, and let that light fill you up.’
“I got a halfway decent job because of the program he sent me to, and then, at his urging, took a class at the Community College. But God had bigger plans for me, as you can see. I went to college on a program for Vets, then to seminary. I met a wonderful young woman who said she loved me, despite my background, and that she wasn’t at all afraid I’d go back to all that bad behavior. We got married. She’s the gal sitting right down in the front pew here. She’s been my backbone and support in my work. God’s gift to me.”
Well, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. Pastor Art hadn’t been with us very long when he told us that story, so none of us had any idea he’d ‘had a Past’ as the elderly ladies said. But what made the most impression on us young ones was that he said last:
“So don’t you think for a minute that God has no use for you. No matter how you’ve screwed things up, no matter if you’ve been throwing your time away, no matter that you think God can’t possibly love you, THINK AGAIN! (You can tell a lot about Pastor Art by the fact that he talked in capital letters a lot.) God shows NO PARTIALITY! No matter what you’ve done, no matter how far you’ve fallen, just believe in Jesus, and your sins are all forgiven.
“Easter proves it. Think about it -- on Friday everybody betrayed him, and he was executed like the worst kind of criminal. Even as they were driving the nails in, he asked God to forgive them. And on Easter, he was back, forgiving those who had deserted him. That includes you, and yes, even me.”
To which the congregation said a rousing, “Amen!”
*****************************************
StoryShare, April 5, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 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.ted Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Back from the Dead
by Frank Ramirez
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.
-- Psalm 118:17
Maybe merely being restored to life after having been left for dead is not the same as rising from the grave, but the story of Penelope Stout certainly calls to mind the miracle of Easter. Penelope was not only granted more life -- she lived that life to the fullest.
Before we tell the story, let's introduce the storyteller. Abraham Harley Cassel (1820-1908) of Harleysville, Pennsylvania, was one of the old Dunkers, one of the Pennsylvania Dutch, such as you might see driving a buggy through rural Lancaster or York counties today. Raised to farming, he had a hunger for books that was nearly starved by his father, who believed that the only result that could come from education was learning how to sin.
As a result Cassel, whose first language was German, attended school a total of less than six weeks. His first language was German. An older sister taught him English as well as reading and writing. As an adult Abraham Harley Cassel, though of simple means, amassed a library of over 50,000 books, manuscripts, and pamphlets.
Though he became famous as a knowledgeable antiquarian who gladly shared his library with others, he was always embarrassed about his lack of education and was reluctant to write formal histories. Nevertheless, he occasionally sent letters to the editors of magazines with a story he thought others might find interesting.
In the archives of Juniata College, where much of Cassel's collection is now held, are three pages of foolscap with Cassel's regular, neat handwriting. Dated September 26, 1728, it is titled "Some Interesting Reminiscences of the old Hopewell Baptist Church," located in Hunterton County, New Jersey. The meetinghouse was built in 1747 by Jonathan Stout, who Cassel identifies as a "Primitive Baptist." But his account of the original families of the church, who organized in April 1715, pales to the story he tells of one ancestor of the Stout family:
"But the most remarkable part of its history, is that of the Stout's family, of which we will give a brief sketch. Romantic as it may appear, we believe it strictly true; and furnishes a remarkable instance of the watchful care and protection of an over-ruling Providence for a special purpose.
"As already seen Jonathan Stout and family were the seed of the church and the beginning of the settlement; and also that of the fifteen which constituted the church, nine were Stouts, that it was constituted at the house of a Stout, the meetings were held in the dwellings of the Stouts for forty-one years, or till the meeting-house was built -- from first to last about half the members were Stouts -- for in looking over the church books we find about two hundred of the name. Besides about as many were of the blood, who had lost the name by marriage. And what is wonderful -- all sprang from one woman, and she as good as dead. Her history is carefully preserved by her posterity and is told as following: she was born at Amsterdam, about the year 1602. Her father's name was Vanprincis. She and her first husband (whose name is lost) sailed for New York (then called New Amsterdam) about the year 1620. The vessel was stranded at Sandy Hook about eighteen miles South of the harbor, the crew got ashore and marched towards the said New York. But Penelope's (that was her name) husband being so badly hurt in the wreck could not march with them. Therefore he and the wife tarried in the woods: -- they had not been long in the place, before the Indians killed them both (as they thought) and stripped them both naked to the skin. However Penelope came to life again, though her skull was fractured and her left shoulder so hacked, that she could never use that arm like the other, she was also cut across the abdomen, so that her bowels appeared; these she kept in with her hand. She continued in this miserable situation for seven days, taking shelter in a hollow tree, and eating the excresence of it. The seventh day she saw a deer passing by with arrows sticking in it, and soon after two Indians appeared, whom she was glad to see, hoping they would put her out of her misery: accordingly one made towards her, to knock her on the head, but the other, who was an elderly man, prevented him, and throwing his match-coat about her to cover her nakedness, he carried her to his wigwam, and cured her of her wounds and bruises, after that, he took her to New York and made a present of her, to her country-men.... It was in New York not long after her arrival, that one Richard Stout married her. He was a native of England and of a good family. She was now in her 22nd year and he in his fortieth. She bore him seven sons and three daughters, viz. Jonathan, the founder of Hopewell, John, Richard, James, Peter, David, Benjamin, Mary, Sarah and Alice. The daughters married into the families of the Bounds', Pikes', and Skeltons'. The sons also married and had many children. The mother lived to the extraordinary age of one hundred and ten years and saw her offspring multiplied into five hundred and two, in about eighty-eight years."
Penelope Stout could have died, should have died, yet she persevered despite her horrific ordeal -- and certainly all her descendents -- which would eventually include the novelist Rex Stout, best known for the Nero Wolfe mystery novels -- were thankful that she endured beyond a living death into a full and productive life.
On this Easter Day we celebrate Jesus, who also persevered through a horrifying ordeal and through whom we all have life, rich life, abundant life, life eternal. We are all family and all descendants of another who suffered that we might be live.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
*****************************************
StoryShare, April 5-6, 8, 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.
"The Pastor's Past" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * *
The Pastor's Past
by Sandra Herrmann
Acts 10:34-43
Our new preacher was a formidable figure in his black robes with velvet panels. A large man as it was, those robes, swirling around him as he strode from side to side on the platform, had impact. So did his shock of red hair, and his finger, that he used to emphasize his point to the small crowd in the church.
It was Easter, and the first time I’d heard him speak.
“Don’t think,” he was saying, “that God cannot understand you! God understands you better than you can understand yourself!” Now the pointing finger aimed at the congregation. “You have no idea why you cannot abandon your sinful lifestyle! You can’t explain why your temper is so often out of control, why you nag your wife, scream at your children! You try to stop your overeating and then gobble down half a cake you said was for your child’s birthday party! You lay in the booze and hide it from your family so you can drink -- you think -- in secret! You tell your wife you have to work overtime, and then you go out to the bar and pick up some sleazy woman and douse yourself with aftershave to drown out the smell of booze and that woman so your wife won’t suspect!” A gasp swept over the congregation. I sat up a little straighter. This guy had guts!
His voice dropped. His hand found the Bible on the pulpit as he crept to the front of the platform. Raising the Bible, he said, “You know what the Good Book says, but you don’t follow it. You think that you’re exempt from the commandments? Or do you think that God doesn’t see?” He strode back to the pulpit and took a drink of water, then moved back to the center of the platform.
“Now I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, ‘What would a preacher know about temptation?’ Well, I wasn’t always a preacher! In my youth, I was a soldier. I signed up to go overseas and “keep the terrorists under control.” But it was way worse than I had expected, I can tell you. Mud and dust and explosions and death and destruction. Most of the guys smoked weed or drank or even worse -- you know, that’s the part of the world where they grow the poppies that make hard drugs -- and if we weren’t on duty, we were using something to make the fear and noise go away. We got into fights, got into trouble with the locals, and I was right in the thick of that. When I came back home, it was BORING! Horrible as it was, I’d gotten used to noise and trouble and chaos. It was the lack of chaos that got me into trouble back here at home. I went out to drink, really looking for a fight, and I usually got plenty of both.
“That’s right,” he nodded, as the congregation squirmed, “I was just about at the bottom of my personal barrel, down there with the dregs of society.
“Went to AA twice because my doctor said it was my only hope. Never went back; those people were too stupid for me to hang around with.”
There was a slight titter among the listeners.
“Yeah, that’s right. I was too smart for the program. Too smart to get caught. But my wife wasn’t fooled. She told me that if I was too smart to stick with AA I was too smart to stay with her, and she left me. Filed for divorce, wouldn’t take my phone calls, wouldn’t see me. I decided that there was no point in me trying with her, signed the papers and let her go. We hadn’t had any kids, which suited me, but it had made her unhappy.
“So there I was, homeless, wifeless, jobless. My cousin took me in, over the objections of his wife, and on one condition: I couldn’t use drugs or alcohol. I agreed, rather than sleep in some shelter or on a park bench. But I brought home a woman I met in a bar, and my cousin’s wife slammed into my room, ordered the gal out, and told me I was no longer welcome. I was shocked, and scared, and started doing something I hadn’t done in a long time: I cried, and begged for another chance. I started to make her some promises, but she told me she didn’t believe I could keep a promise, and she wanted me out. Told me my cigarette smoking was stinking up the whole house, that my room stank, that I needed a bath, to brush my teeth.”
He stopped his pacing.
“My cousin’s wife told me I was headed for hell, and I told her I was already there.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the church that day. Everybody stared at him as he looked down at his shoes for a long moment.
The preacher finally looked up.
“I walked out of my cousin’s house and down the street, intending to kill myself. I had a couple of ideas about how to do that. I figured I’d go to the Vet’s House downtown. Somebody there might know how I could get hold of a gun. Or maybe I’d just cruise around the downtown streets until I could buy enough pills to kill myself.
“But God had a different idea. I ran into a street-corner preacher. You know, one of those guys with the pamphlets and pocket New Testaments who tells you the end is at hand. I came around the corner, not watching where I was going, and I almost knocked him over.
“Well, I was embarrassed. I helped him to his feet, and apologized. Chased down some of his handouts. But when I handed them to him, he said, ‘Son, don’t do it.’ All I could say was, ‘Huh?’
‘Don’t do it, son. The world can be a hard place, but God still loves you and has a plan for you, and that doesn’t include offing yourself.’ He was looking me right in the eye. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t break eye contact. I just stood there, listening, as he told me that God wanted me to be at peace. That God had good things in store for me, and a job for me to do for Him. ‘If you kill yourself, you’ll miss all the good stuff God has in mind for you.’ He gave me one of those pocket Testaments, and he opened that book to Acts 10:43, and he read it to me:
“EVERYONE WHO BELIEVES IN HIM RECEIVES FORGIVENESS OF SINS THROUGH HIS NAME.”
“I told that man, ‘You have no idea what I’ve done.’ But he said, ‘I don’t have to know. God knows. And more, God knows why you’ve done what you’ve done, and He forgives you.’
“He led me into a little restaurant down the street and bought me a meal and we sat and talked for the better part of an hour. He gave me the address of a church and told me the pastor there made it a point to help guys like me. And before he walked out that door, he gave me his card and the promise that I could call anytime day or night. And then he prayed over me. Told God to show Himself to me, because I couldn’t live without that.
“And just like that, I thought I saw a golden light, flowing from that pastor’s hands to the space around us, and filling the dark corners of that room, and filling me with the most amazing peace I’d ever experienced! I told the pastor what was happening, and he said, ‘Just open your heart, Ken, and let that light fill you up.’
“I got a halfway decent job because of the program he sent me to, and then, at his urging, took a class at the Community College. But God had bigger plans for me, as you can see. I went to college on a program for Vets, then to seminary. I met a wonderful young woman who said she loved me, despite my background, and that she wasn’t at all afraid I’d go back to all that bad behavior. We got married. She’s the gal sitting right down in the front pew here. She’s been my backbone and support in my work. God’s gift to me.”
Well, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. Pastor Art hadn’t been with us very long when he told us that story, so none of us had any idea he’d ‘had a Past’ as the elderly ladies said. But what made the most impression on us young ones was that he said last:
“So don’t you think for a minute that God has no use for you. No matter how you’ve screwed things up, no matter if you’ve been throwing your time away, no matter that you think God can’t possibly love you, THINK AGAIN! (You can tell a lot about Pastor Art by the fact that he talked in capital letters a lot.) God shows NO PARTIALITY! No matter what you’ve done, no matter how far you’ve fallen, just believe in Jesus, and your sins are all forgiven.
“Easter proves it. Think about it -- on Friday everybody betrayed him, and he was executed like the worst kind of criminal. Even as they were driving the nails in, he asked God to forgive them. And on Easter, he was back, forgiving those who had deserted him. That includes you, and yes, even me.”
To which the congregation said a rousing, “Amen!”
*****************************************
StoryShare, April 5, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 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.ted Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Back from the Dead
by Frank Ramirez
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.
-- Psalm 118:17
Maybe merely being restored to life after having been left for dead is not the same as rising from the grave, but the story of Penelope Stout certainly calls to mind the miracle of Easter. Penelope was not only granted more life -- she lived that life to the fullest.
Before we tell the story, let's introduce the storyteller. Abraham Harley Cassel (1820-1908) of Harleysville, Pennsylvania, was one of the old Dunkers, one of the Pennsylvania Dutch, such as you might see driving a buggy through rural Lancaster or York counties today. Raised to farming, he had a hunger for books that was nearly starved by his father, who believed that the only result that could come from education was learning how to sin.
As a result Cassel, whose first language was German, attended school a total of less than six weeks. His first language was German. An older sister taught him English as well as reading and writing. As an adult Abraham Harley Cassel, though of simple means, amassed a library of over 50,000 books, manuscripts, and pamphlets.
Though he became famous as a knowledgeable antiquarian who gladly shared his library with others, he was always embarrassed about his lack of education and was reluctant to write formal histories. Nevertheless, he occasionally sent letters to the editors of magazines with a story he thought others might find interesting.
In the archives of Juniata College, where much of Cassel's collection is now held, are three pages of foolscap with Cassel's regular, neat handwriting. Dated September 26, 1728, it is titled "Some Interesting Reminiscences of the old Hopewell Baptist Church," located in Hunterton County, New Jersey. The meetinghouse was built in 1747 by Jonathan Stout, who Cassel identifies as a "Primitive Baptist." But his account of the original families of the church, who organized in April 1715, pales to the story he tells of one ancestor of the Stout family:
"But the most remarkable part of its history, is that of the Stout's family, of which we will give a brief sketch. Romantic as it may appear, we believe it strictly true; and furnishes a remarkable instance of the watchful care and protection of an over-ruling Providence for a special purpose.
"As already seen Jonathan Stout and family were the seed of the church and the beginning of the settlement; and also that of the fifteen which constituted the church, nine were Stouts, that it was constituted at the house of a Stout, the meetings were held in the dwellings of the Stouts for forty-one years, or till the meeting-house was built -- from first to last about half the members were Stouts -- for in looking over the church books we find about two hundred of the name. Besides about as many were of the blood, who had lost the name by marriage. And what is wonderful -- all sprang from one woman, and she as good as dead. Her history is carefully preserved by her posterity and is told as following: she was born at Amsterdam, about the year 1602. Her father's name was Vanprincis. She and her first husband (whose name is lost) sailed for New York (then called New Amsterdam) about the year 1620. The vessel was stranded at Sandy Hook about eighteen miles South of the harbor, the crew got ashore and marched towards the said New York. But Penelope's (that was her name) husband being so badly hurt in the wreck could not march with them. Therefore he and the wife tarried in the woods: -- they had not been long in the place, before the Indians killed them both (as they thought) and stripped them both naked to the skin. However Penelope came to life again, though her skull was fractured and her left shoulder so hacked, that she could never use that arm like the other, she was also cut across the abdomen, so that her bowels appeared; these she kept in with her hand. She continued in this miserable situation for seven days, taking shelter in a hollow tree, and eating the excresence of it. The seventh day she saw a deer passing by with arrows sticking in it, and soon after two Indians appeared, whom she was glad to see, hoping they would put her out of her misery: accordingly one made towards her, to knock her on the head, but the other, who was an elderly man, prevented him, and throwing his match-coat about her to cover her nakedness, he carried her to his wigwam, and cured her of her wounds and bruises, after that, he took her to New York and made a present of her, to her country-men.... It was in New York not long after her arrival, that one Richard Stout married her. He was a native of England and of a good family. She was now in her 22nd year and he in his fortieth. She bore him seven sons and three daughters, viz. Jonathan, the founder of Hopewell, John, Richard, James, Peter, David, Benjamin, Mary, Sarah and Alice. The daughters married into the families of the Bounds', Pikes', and Skeltons'. The sons also married and had many children. The mother lived to the extraordinary age of one hundred and ten years and saw her offspring multiplied into five hundred and two, in about eighty-eight years."
Penelope Stout could have died, should have died, yet she persevered despite her horrific ordeal -- and certainly all her descendents -- which would eventually include the novelist Rex Stout, best known for the Nero Wolfe mystery novels -- were thankful that she endured beyond a living death into a full and productive life.
On this Easter Day we celebrate Jesus, who also persevered through a horrifying ordeal and through whom we all have life, rich life, abundant life, life eternal. We are all family and all descendants of another who suffered that we might be live.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
*****************************************
StoryShare, April 5-6, 8, 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.
