In Plain Sight
Stories
Object:
Contents
"In Plain Sight" by Peter Andrew Smith
"A Failure to Communicate" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
In Plain Sight
by Peter Andrew Smith
Exodus 17:1-7
"Are you all right?" Tilden asked as they pulled away from the free clinic.
Sam wiped the sweat off his brow and trembled as he put the handkerchief away. "Yeah, I just get flushed after my treatment. Any chance we could swing past College Street?"
"Sure. Any reason in particular?"
"I'm registered in a couple of night classes and want to pick up some more forms to be signed."
"Good for you," Tilden said. "I didn't know you were going back to school."
"Well, it is nothing big. There was a pamphlet in the clinic when I was waiting for the nurse to give me my injection." Sam shrugged. "I guess I'd like to do something more than wash dishes the rest of my life."
"That is great." Tilden looked over his shoulder to change lanes. "Remember when it was hard for you to even hold down that job?"
"I was pretty messed up when I came in through the doors of the church looking for help, wasn't I?"
"You were but the important thing to remember isn't how things were then but how far you have come. What courses are you thinking of taking?"
"I need to upgrade my high school marks so I'm taking English and Math." Sam shifted in his seat. "I hope I can handle it."
"I remember you saying the very same thing when you began rehab as well as when you started that job at the restaurant."
"Yeah, I guess I'll probably do okay," Sam said. "How come you always know what to say?"
Tilden smiled. "I don't. But I pray a lot and that helps. Is this the building you need?"
"Yeah, it is." Sam squinted at the sign as they pulled into the parking lot. "They aren't open yet but should be in a couple of minutes. Are you able to wait?"
"No problem," Tilden said. "They aren't expecting me back at the church until this afternoon."
"Mind if I get out and have a smoke? It helps with the jitters."
"Sure. As long as it isn't inside the car."
Sam walked around the car to Tilden's rolled down window and leaned up against a parking meter. His shaking diminished noticeably when he took a drag off the cigarette. "I'm going to quit as soon as I finish the methadone."
"It would only be a good thing," Tilden said. "After I quit I felt better and had more money in my pocket."
"You smoked? I thought pastors didn't do anything wrong."
Tilden laughed. "Oh, we are just as human as everyone else. It has been ten years since I had my last one."
"You ever want one?"
"Sometimes. Usually when things get stressful. But I pray about it and remember how far I have come and even though sometimes the temptation gets strong, God gives me the strength I need."
"Can I tell you something?" Sam asked taking a long draw on his cigarette. "I sometimes wish that God would help me out. I mean I had a rough time with getting messed up with drugs and stuff and even though I tried praying God hasn't done anything for me at all."
Tilden looked Sam square in the eye. "You really think that?"
"No offense," Sam said flicking the ash of his cigarette into a paper cup. "I just don't think God has been there for me."
"What happened that day when you showed up at the church looking for help?" Tilden asked.
"Well you talked to me, got me something to eat, and put me in touch with the community nurse," Sam said.
"Who got you into the methadone clinic I drive you to? Which helped you get the job at the restaurant and now has you thinking about going to school," Tilden said. "People of faith have been with you each day of your recovery which means that God has been helping you every step of the way."
"Huh." Sam took a couple of drags off his cigarette. "But some of those days have been hard."
"God never promises us it will be easy, only that we will get the help we need to make it through the worst," Tilden said. "God works through people to make things change and there are a lot of people helping you put your life back together."
"I never thought about it that way before." Sam crushed out the smoke and looked at his watch. "I should go get the papers."
He started forward and then stopped. "When you have church on Sunday morning do you talk about things like we just talked about?"
"Yes, we do," Tilden said. "You are more than welcome to come join us in worship."
With a nod Sam went into the building leaving Tilden deep in thought about the different ways that God answers prayer.
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.
A Failure to Communicate
by Keith Hewitt
Matthew 21:23-32
Gerald stumbled to the door, half awake and dancing gracelessly for the last ten feet or so, courtesy of something the approximate size and shape of a porcupine apparently left in the darkened hallway. He leaned against the door, raised his foot and rubbed it tenderly, surprised not to find something sticking out of his sole. The doorbell chimed again, reminding him of the reason for this trip in the first place; still rubbing his foot, he turned slightly and put his eye to the peephole.
The figure on the other side of the door was dressed in shapeless coveralls and appeared to be holding a clipboard -- maybe a tablet. As he watched, the visitor glanced at his -- her? -- watch and reached out, pressed the doorbell again.
"What is it?" Gerald demanded, lowering his foot and turning slightly, so he was now almost face-to-face with the blank door. "What do you want?"
"Is this Gerald Robbins? Address 314H South Quincy Street?"
"You're standing here, aren't you?" Gerald answered irritably, looked at his own watch -- just about 3:00 a.m. What the --
"Gerald Robbins?" the visitor asked loudly, "Social Security Number Three Nine Seven --"
Gerald fumbled with the knob, hastily opened the door. "Sshh!" he said with soft urgency, "Don't do that. I don't want the neighbors hearing my Social Security Number!"
His visitor looked amused. "Seriously? Do you think anyone else is up at this hour?" As the question was asked, he -- yes, it was almost certainly a he, Gerald decided -- brushed past him and stepped inside the apartment. "So, it is you?" he asked, looking around the darkened apartment. Without waiting for an answer, he side-stepped into the dining room, flipped on the light, and surveyed the room.
Gerald followed him, wincing at the sudden light. "Never mind who I am, who the heck are you? And what are you doing here at three in the morning?"
"My name's Afriel," the newcomer answered, tapping his upper left chest, where the name "Afriel" was embroidered on the off-white coveralls. "I'm here to do a comm check."
"Comm check?"
"Communications check. You know --" He turned, faced Gerald. "-- testing, testing, one, two, three, that sort of thing?"
Gerald's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He closed it when he realized he had nothing to say, instead took a couple of swift steps to the end table, where the phone was sitting. He picked it up, listened, and then held out the receiver to Afriel. "It's working," he said simply. "There's a dial tone."
Afriel shook his head. "Just because there's a dial tone, doesn't mean it is working. I mean, you're talking -- that doesn't mean you're thinking."
After a moment or two to digest that, Gerald frowned. "Now wait a minute --"
Afriel waved a hand. "And, besides, I wasn't talking about the phone. I'm talking about something much more important."
"Internet?"
Afriel covered his eyes for a moment with his free hand, shook his head. "No, Gerald, not the internet, either -- but I have to tell you, just between you and me, you're not exactly using your internet up to its full potential. I mean, dude, think about some of those sites you go to. If you were to get hit by a bus tomorrow --" He hesitated, looked at the tablet in his hand, then nodded to himself. "-- not that that's going to happen, tomorrow, but just say it did -- would you want your mother to find your laptop and start going through the history?"
Gerald's mouth opened, stayed that way for a moment, then closed. He licked his lips, then, and croaked, "Look, I don't know who you are, but I --"
"Afriel, remember?" He pointed to the name on his coveralls, again. "But we're wasting time, here. Like I said, I'm here to check the communications link."
"What communications link?" Gerald demanded.
"The one between you and Management."
"Management?" He frowned. "I was just down there last week, signing my new lease. He didn't say anything."
"Not that management. The Management." Afriel paused, looked upward significantly, then back to Gerald. "You know --" He pointed his index finger toward the ceiling. "-- God. Apparently, there's been some sort of breakdown, and I'm supposed to check it out. Make sure the signal's still getting through."
"God?" Gerald repeated slowly, then felt around unsteadily for the arm of the nearest chair, sank into it. "I don't get it."
"That may be the problem," Afriel agreed, "but there's a checklist. First, we have to check reception at our end. Think about something."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind, I'll keep this simple. Think about something you want to say to me but don't say it out loud."
Gerald stared up at Afriel, blinked a couple of times, silently.
One of Afriel's eyebrows twitched up, and he sighed, touched something on the screen. "Okay, I think that came in pretty clearly." He looked at Gerald. "And the answer I can't do that. And, I'm not leaving yet."
"So what's this about? I don't get it."
"Look, it is simple. God talks to each of you -- not all the time, for most of you, but often enough. And there have been --" he looked at the tablet, "-- three separate occasions in the last two years when God spoke to you, asked you to do something, and you didn't do it."
"But I don't --" He trailed off, unsure what to say.
"It's usually not a bolt from the blue, Gerald -- not a burning bush. Those are saved for very special occasions, and trust me, this doesn't qualify. But God does nudge you, he does whisper to you, to push you toward things that will be good for you, help you to develop your character and grow in your relationship with him. For instance, about three months ago there was that Bible study starting up at your church. God wanted you to go to that and was pushing you toward it. In fact, the communication we heard at our end was that you said yes, you would do it. And yet, you didn't."
Gerald frowned. "I remember that. I remember thinking the Bible study actually sounded interesting, for a change, and wanted to start going to it."
" 'For a change.' Nice. But the point is, you definitely wanted to start attending. We got that message, but then you never showed. What happened?"
Gerald thought rapidly, shrugged and said, "I'm not sure. I guess I just got busy with something else on Sunday night."
"Right." Afriel glanced at the tablet again. "Technically, Gerald, sitting on your butt watching reruns of Firefly does not constitute being 'busy.' Not in God's eyes. Why didn't you just get the boxed set, the way the rest of us did?"
"Look, to be fair --" Gerald stopped, looked up at Afriel. "You got the boxed set of Firefly?"
"Dude, the bloopers, alone, are worth it. But that's beside the point -- the point is, you keep telling God 'yes,' and not following through. At least, that's what it sounds like. Is that what's happening or is the connection bad?"
Gerald started to snap back an answer -- hesitated, and thought back over the last few years, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it's happened a few times."
"More than a few, Gerald, and it's starting to wear thin. Look, God knows you're not perfect -- he doesn't expect that. And he doesn't expect that you're going to do what he wants every single time he asks. That's part of the whole free will package. But when you do say 'yes,' or when you do really feel called to do something, he expects you to respect him enough to follow through on it. I mean, seriously, he created the universe for you folks -- he created you. Do you really want to blow him off that way?"
Gerald sighed. "Probably not."
"Okay, then." Afriel touched a couple of points on the tablet and nodded. "I think we've come to an understanding, then. God's going to talk to you, Gerald -- please remember to listen. And, most importantly, follow through on what you tell him. Do that and we'll all be happy." He tucked the tablet under his arm. "It was good meeting you, Gerald."
Gerald scrambled to his feet, stuck out a hand. "Uh -- good meeting you, too. I guess." Afriel shifted the tablet to his other arm, shook hands; Gerald noticed that his grip was strong but not warm.
Together, they walked to the door. Gerald opened it, and Afriel paused, looked at him closely. "Remember this -- just keep your promises, okay? Then everybody will be happy."
Gerald nodded. "Okay."
Afriel nodded, apparently satisfied, and stepped through the door -- then hesitated in the hallway, turned back to him. "And just between us -- keep an eye peeled for buses."
Then, with a smile, he was gone...
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 25, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"In Plain Sight" by Peter Andrew Smith
"A Failure to Communicate" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
In Plain Sight
by Peter Andrew Smith
Exodus 17:1-7
"Are you all right?" Tilden asked as they pulled away from the free clinic.
Sam wiped the sweat off his brow and trembled as he put the handkerchief away. "Yeah, I just get flushed after my treatment. Any chance we could swing past College Street?"
"Sure. Any reason in particular?"
"I'm registered in a couple of night classes and want to pick up some more forms to be signed."
"Good for you," Tilden said. "I didn't know you were going back to school."
"Well, it is nothing big. There was a pamphlet in the clinic when I was waiting for the nurse to give me my injection." Sam shrugged. "I guess I'd like to do something more than wash dishes the rest of my life."
"That is great." Tilden looked over his shoulder to change lanes. "Remember when it was hard for you to even hold down that job?"
"I was pretty messed up when I came in through the doors of the church looking for help, wasn't I?"
"You were but the important thing to remember isn't how things were then but how far you have come. What courses are you thinking of taking?"
"I need to upgrade my high school marks so I'm taking English and Math." Sam shifted in his seat. "I hope I can handle it."
"I remember you saying the very same thing when you began rehab as well as when you started that job at the restaurant."
"Yeah, I guess I'll probably do okay," Sam said. "How come you always know what to say?"
Tilden smiled. "I don't. But I pray a lot and that helps. Is this the building you need?"
"Yeah, it is." Sam squinted at the sign as they pulled into the parking lot. "They aren't open yet but should be in a couple of minutes. Are you able to wait?"
"No problem," Tilden said. "They aren't expecting me back at the church until this afternoon."
"Mind if I get out and have a smoke? It helps with the jitters."
"Sure. As long as it isn't inside the car."
Sam walked around the car to Tilden's rolled down window and leaned up against a parking meter. His shaking diminished noticeably when he took a drag off the cigarette. "I'm going to quit as soon as I finish the methadone."
"It would only be a good thing," Tilden said. "After I quit I felt better and had more money in my pocket."
"You smoked? I thought pastors didn't do anything wrong."
Tilden laughed. "Oh, we are just as human as everyone else. It has been ten years since I had my last one."
"You ever want one?"
"Sometimes. Usually when things get stressful. But I pray about it and remember how far I have come and even though sometimes the temptation gets strong, God gives me the strength I need."
"Can I tell you something?" Sam asked taking a long draw on his cigarette. "I sometimes wish that God would help me out. I mean I had a rough time with getting messed up with drugs and stuff and even though I tried praying God hasn't done anything for me at all."
Tilden looked Sam square in the eye. "You really think that?"
"No offense," Sam said flicking the ash of his cigarette into a paper cup. "I just don't think God has been there for me."
"What happened that day when you showed up at the church looking for help?" Tilden asked.
"Well you talked to me, got me something to eat, and put me in touch with the community nurse," Sam said.
"Who got you into the methadone clinic I drive you to? Which helped you get the job at the restaurant and now has you thinking about going to school," Tilden said. "People of faith have been with you each day of your recovery which means that God has been helping you every step of the way."
"Huh." Sam took a couple of drags off his cigarette. "But some of those days have been hard."
"God never promises us it will be easy, only that we will get the help we need to make it through the worst," Tilden said. "God works through people to make things change and there are a lot of people helping you put your life back together."
"I never thought about it that way before." Sam crushed out the smoke and looked at his watch. "I should go get the papers."
He started forward and then stopped. "When you have church on Sunday morning do you talk about things like we just talked about?"
"Yes, we do," Tilden said. "You are more than welcome to come join us in worship."
With a nod Sam went into the building leaving Tilden deep in thought about the different ways that God answers prayer.
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.
A Failure to Communicate
by Keith Hewitt
Matthew 21:23-32
Gerald stumbled to the door, half awake and dancing gracelessly for the last ten feet or so, courtesy of something the approximate size and shape of a porcupine apparently left in the darkened hallway. He leaned against the door, raised his foot and rubbed it tenderly, surprised not to find something sticking out of his sole. The doorbell chimed again, reminding him of the reason for this trip in the first place; still rubbing his foot, he turned slightly and put his eye to the peephole.
The figure on the other side of the door was dressed in shapeless coveralls and appeared to be holding a clipboard -- maybe a tablet. As he watched, the visitor glanced at his -- her? -- watch and reached out, pressed the doorbell again.
"What is it?" Gerald demanded, lowering his foot and turning slightly, so he was now almost face-to-face with the blank door. "What do you want?"
"Is this Gerald Robbins? Address 314H South Quincy Street?"
"You're standing here, aren't you?" Gerald answered irritably, looked at his own watch -- just about 3:00 a.m. What the --
"Gerald Robbins?" the visitor asked loudly, "Social Security Number Three Nine Seven --"
Gerald fumbled with the knob, hastily opened the door. "Sshh!" he said with soft urgency, "Don't do that. I don't want the neighbors hearing my Social Security Number!"
His visitor looked amused. "Seriously? Do you think anyone else is up at this hour?" As the question was asked, he -- yes, it was almost certainly a he, Gerald decided -- brushed past him and stepped inside the apartment. "So, it is you?" he asked, looking around the darkened apartment. Without waiting for an answer, he side-stepped into the dining room, flipped on the light, and surveyed the room.
Gerald followed him, wincing at the sudden light. "Never mind who I am, who the heck are you? And what are you doing here at three in the morning?"
"My name's Afriel," the newcomer answered, tapping his upper left chest, where the name "Afriel" was embroidered on the off-white coveralls. "I'm here to do a comm check."
"Comm check?"
"Communications check. You know --" He turned, faced Gerald. "-- testing, testing, one, two, three, that sort of thing?"
Gerald's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He closed it when he realized he had nothing to say, instead took a couple of swift steps to the end table, where the phone was sitting. He picked it up, listened, and then held out the receiver to Afriel. "It's working," he said simply. "There's a dial tone."
Afriel shook his head. "Just because there's a dial tone, doesn't mean it is working. I mean, you're talking -- that doesn't mean you're thinking."
After a moment or two to digest that, Gerald frowned. "Now wait a minute --"
Afriel waved a hand. "And, besides, I wasn't talking about the phone. I'm talking about something much more important."
"Internet?"
Afriel covered his eyes for a moment with his free hand, shook his head. "No, Gerald, not the internet, either -- but I have to tell you, just between you and me, you're not exactly using your internet up to its full potential. I mean, dude, think about some of those sites you go to. If you were to get hit by a bus tomorrow --" He hesitated, looked at the tablet in his hand, then nodded to himself. "-- not that that's going to happen, tomorrow, but just say it did -- would you want your mother to find your laptop and start going through the history?"
Gerald's mouth opened, stayed that way for a moment, then closed. He licked his lips, then, and croaked, "Look, I don't know who you are, but I --"
"Afriel, remember?" He pointed to the name on his coveralls, again. "But we're wasting time, here. Like I said, I'm here to check the communications link."
"What communications link?" Gerald demanded.
"The one between you and Management."
"Management?" He frowned. "I was just down there last week, signing my new lease. He didn't say anything."
"Not that management. The Management." Afriel paused, looked upward significantly, then back to Gerald. "You know --" He pointed his index finger toward the ceiling. "-- God. Apparently, there's been some sort of breakdown, and I'm supposed to check it out. Make sure the signal's still getting through."
"God?" Gerald repeated slowly, then felt around unsteadily for the arm of the nearest chair, sank into it. "I don't get it."
"That may be the problem," Afriel agreed, "but there's a checklist. First, we have to check reception at our end. Think about something."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind, I'll keep this simple. Think about something you want to say to me but don't say it out loud."
Gerald stared up at Afriel, blinked a couple of times, silently.
One of Afriel's eyebrows twitched up, and he sighed, touched something on the screen. "Okay, I think that came in pretty clearly." He looked at Gerald. "And the answer I can't do that. And, I'm not leaving yet."
"So what's this about? I don't get it."
"Look, it is simple. God talks to each of you -- not all the time, for most of you, but often enough. And there have been --" he looked at the tablet, "-- three separate occasions in the last two years when God spoke to you, asked you to do something, and you didn't do it."
"But I don't --" He trailed off, unsure what to say.
"It's usually not a bolt from the blue, Gerald -- not a burning bush. Those are saved for very special occasions, and trust me, this doesn't qualify. But God does nudge you, he does whisper to you, to push you toward things that will be good for you, help you to develop your character and grow in your relationship with him. For instance, about three months ago there was that Bible study starting up at your church. God wanted you to go to that and was pushing you toward it. In fact, the communication we heard at our end was that you said yes, you would do it. And yet, you didn't."
Gerald frowned. "I remember that. I remember thinking the Bible study actually sounded interesting, for a change, and wanted to start going to it."
" 'For a change.' Nice. But the point is, you definitely wanted to start attending. We got that message, but then you never showed. What happened?"
Gerald thought rapidly, shrugged and said, "I'm not sure. I guess I just got busy with something else on Sunday night."
"Right." Afriel glanced at the tablet again. "Technically, Gerald, sitting on your butt watching reruns of Firefly does not constitute being 'busy.' Not in God's eyes. Why didn't you just get the boxed set, the way the rest of us did?"
"Look, to be fair --" Gerald stopped, looked up at Afriel. "You got the boxed set of Firefly?"
"Dude, the bloopers, alone, are worth it. But that's beside the point -- the point is, you keep telling God 'yes,' and not following through. At least, that's what it sounds like. Is that what's happening or is the connection bad?"
Gerald started to snap back an answer -- hesitated, and thought back over the last few years, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it's happened a few times."
"More than a few, Gerald, and it's starting to wear thin. Look, God knows you're not perfect -- he doesn't expect that. And he doesn't expect that you're going to do what he wants every single time he asks. That's part of the whole free will package. But when you do say 'yes,' or when you do really feel called to do something, he expects you to respect him enough to follow through on it. I mean, seriously, he created the universe for you folks -- he created you. Do you really want to blow him off that way?"
Gerald sighed. "Probably not."
"Okay, then." Afriel touched a couple of points on the tablet and nodded. "I think we've come to an understanding, then. God's going to talk to you, Gerald -- please remember to listen. And, most importantly, follow through on what you tell him. Do that and we'll all be happy." He tucked the tablet under his arm. "It was good meeting you, Gerald."
Gerald scrambled to his feet, stuck out a hand. "Uh -- good meeting you, too. I guess." Afriel shifted the tablet to his other arm, shook hands; Gerald noticed that his grip was strong but not warm.
Together, they walked to the door. Gerald opened it, and Afriel paused, looked at him closely. "Remember this -- just keep your promises, okay? Then everybody will be happy."
Gerald nodded. "Okay."
Afriel nodded, apparently satisfied, and stepped through the door -- then hesitated in the hallway, turned back to him. "And just between us -- keep an eye peeled for buses."
Then, with a smile, he was gone...
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 25, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
