The Plow
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Plow" by Keith Hewitt
"Succession Journey" by Peter Andrew Smith
What's Up This Week
Historians tell us it's important to know where we've been so that we can understand where we are now and where we're going. But is it possible that the past can also bind us more than it guides us? Keith Hewitt explores this question in "The Plow." In his story "Succession Journey", Peter Andrew Smith reminds us that following in the footsteps of Jesus sometimes takes us to places we might never go on our own and at other times leads to where we already are.
* * * * * * * * *
The Plow
Keith Hewitt
Luke 9:51-62
"I heard from my friend at the seminary, Jamison -- he tells me you haven't written back to tell them you will be there in the Fall."
Jamison Lee looked across the kitchen table at his friend; half-smiled in response. "You always did like to cut to the chase, Obadiah. Now I know why you asked me to stop by after church."
"I'm old, Jamison -- I don't have time to waste." As if to punctuate the sentence, the old man coughed into a handkerchief balled up in his right hand, kept coughing until it ended in a deep, stuttering wheeze. Breath caught -- or at least briefly detained -- he folded the handkerchief to a cleaner spot, laid his hand in his lap, and fixed Jamison with a stare. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
Jamison considered the question, made space for his thoughts by taking a sip of water from a chipped ceramic cup. The water was cold, fresh from the well, and the taste of minerals was sweet. He'd drunk water from hundred of wells and rivers in half a dozen states, and none of them ever tasted like this -- tasted like home.
Obadiah, familiar with Jamison's ways, waited patiently -- as patiently as an old man could, anyway. He finally drew a slightly deeper breath, was about to speak, when Jamison stirred in his chair, the legs creaking slightly beneath the change in load. "It's like this, Reverend. I know you talked to your friends and helped me get into your old seminary."
"Didn't need that much help, Jamison. You're a decorated officer. And you're a lawyer -- the church is always especially glad to get one of you back from the other side."
Jamison smiled, then -- a flash that momentarily lit up even his eyes. "Nice. The point is, I appreciate all that you did. And a couple of months ago, I was sure it was the right thing to do -- I was pretty sure God was calling me to ministry."
"Then what changed?"
"Nothing."
The old man waited for the silence to pass; when it didn't, he cleared his throat, dabbed at his mouth and rumbled, "Hell's bells, Jamison, I'm too old for this. Get on with it."
Jamison took another sip of cool water, closed his eyes and felt it dance in his mouth and sparkle down his throat; there was nothing like it anywhere he had gone. He took a deep breath, let it out, opened his eyes again and met Obadiah's stare. "I've had time to think, Reverend. Time to think about what I've done in my life, and aside from not living a very godly life in general, I've killed a lot of men. And given orders that killed many, many more."
Obadiah leaned back in his chair, waved his free hand. "Ptah! I thought it might be something like that. Listen to me, Jamison -- there were millions of men in the War Between the States, on both sides. Are you going to sit there and tell me they are all excluded from serving God?"
Jamison hesitated. "Well, I --"
"I served in the militia in the Blackhawk War. I'm pretty sure I killed a few men. If I didn't, it's not for lack of trying." He put his hand to the white collar at his throat. "Does that mean I should take this off?"
"That was a long time ago."
"And so will this be, one day. In the meantime, are you excused from using the gifts God gave you, to serve him?" A fit of coughing chopped off his next words -- he held up one hand, one finger to say wait until the spasms passed. When he had caught his breath again, he leaned forward and said intensely, "That was war, Jamison. You did what you had to do because we were at war. There was no hate in it, no rage to kill -- just an unpleasant duty you had to do."
Jamison stared into the distance while he traced the scar that ran from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his right sideburn. "No," he said almost without feeling, "sometimes there was rage."
Obadiah hesitated -- he had never asked about the scar, and Jamison had never volunteered any information. "I don't know what it was like," he said finally, "but I know what you're like, Jamison. I married you and Elizabeth, and I buried her -- I've known you going on 25 years, in good times and bad. I wouldn't have recommended you for seminary if I didn't think you had the call, and the spark of God in you."
"It just seems like the bad times are stacked so high, Reverend -- I don't know how I can see past them."
Obadiah Strong considered this for a time, then stood up slowly, forcing old bones to obey his will. "Jamison Lee, have you ever plowed a field?"
Jamison looked at his friend and blinked a couple of times at the sudden change in direction. "Uh -- no. Why?"
"Then come with me." The old man led the way out of the kitchen without looking back, expecting to be obeyed. Jamison hesitated, then pushed his chair back and stood up, followed him out onto the porch and then across the yard to the patch of ground that would be a field of corn in a month or two. The old man insisted on growing his own food, though there were plenty in the congregation who would have fed him.
Obadiah was already harnessing a horse to the plow, which stood at the side of the field. "There's an art to plowing," he said, as he made the harness smooth, turned leather straps over so they were not twisted, buckled them securely. "Old Mary, here, will do the hard work, but she needs somebody back here, making sure the blade is turning the ground, and keeping it straight. Got to keep the furrows straight, to make the harvest easier. Understand?"
"No," Jamison admitted haplessly.
"You start here. Push down and make sure the blade is cutting into the clay, and then you tell Mary to start forward. And you keep pushing down, to make sure the blade's cutting, and you keep it straight -- you don't want to go wandering all over the place." He paused. "Check where you've been, as you go along -- make sure you're staying in a straight line." He checked the connection between plow and harness, held up the reins to Jamison. "Clear?"
"Not exactly." He accepted the reins anyway, pushed forward and down to make sure the blade was biting into the ground, then twitched the reins and made a clucking noise. Old Mary looked back at him, then at Obadiah, as if to question whether or not she should listen to the younger man. Obadiah waved, and she started forward with a jerk.
He had a hard time wrestling the blade into the ground, and it seemed as though the whole contraption wanted to wander from side to side. "Remember, check where you've been!" Obadiah reminded. Jamison looked back and found that they really were pulling to one side. He corrected, looked back again after a few feet, found that they were pulling off to the other side. He corrected again, kept checking over his shoulder and correcting until they had crossed the field. On the far side, the horse stopped, and he stumbled.
Obadiah, who had followed at a comfortable walking pace, pointed back. "Now look."
Jamison looked at the furrow of turned earth, snaking in gentle -- and not so gentle -- curves as it snaked from one side of the field to the other. "I guess I need more practice," he observed. "So is your point that I'm not fit to be a farmer, so ministry is the only thing I have left?"
Obadiah shrugged. "It's not looking good, is it? But I'll give you one more try." He helped navigate a turn, so that man, plow, and horse were standing about a yard to the left of the first, uneven furrow. "One more time."
"You're just doing this to get your field plowed," Jamison said.
The old man shrugged again, nodded forward. "Now go." As Jamison pushed down on the plow, biting once more into the ground, the old man tapped him on the shoulder. "See that?" He pointed across the field.
Jamison looked up, squinted in the sun directly ahead, in the direction Obadiah was pointing. "That pole?"
"Yep. Head toward that. Just bear down and head for that."
Jamison started to argue, then shrugged it off. "Whatever. Let's get this done." Once more, he twitched the reins and snickered at the horse. This time, she started off without checking with her owner. Again, Jamison lifted on the handles and pushed to keep the blade digging into the earth, and as he walked the old man shouted, "Remember! Guide on the pole!"
After what seemed like a little shorter time -- but maybe a little more work -- they were back at the side of the field where they had started. Once again, Obadiah had arrived at the same time, and once again he pointed back. "See how you did this time."
Jamison turned, expecting to see little improvement -- was shocked to see a nearly straight furrow pointing like an arrow from the far side of the field to the pole upon which he had fixed his focus. As he stood, studying what he had done, Obadiah stepped up next to him and admired the furrow as well. "Not bad, eh?" he asked finally.
Jamison nodded slowly. "I don't get it."
"It's not hard, son. That first time, you spent so much time looking back that you couldn't really judge where you were going. You were bound to get off track -- and stay off track -- that way. This time, you kept your eyes fixed on where you wanted to be, instead of where you'd been. From what I can see, that makes all the difference in the world." He looked up at him, then, with piercing eyes. "So tell me, what are you going to be doing this Fall?"
Jamison paused for a moment or two, then looked down at the old man and smiled. "You know, Obadiah -- as fine as that furrow is, I think I'll try my luck at fishing."
And the old man smiled.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT department at a major public safety testing organization.
Succession Journey
Peter Andrew Smith
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
There once was a good man who answered the call of God. He left the life he was leading and went to the streets of a poor inner city. He preached God's forgiveness and mercy to the junkies and prostitutes who lived and worked there. The good man told them of Jesus' death upon the cross to forgive their sins. He proclaimed Jesus rising from death and invited them to experience a new life through the living Christ.
He spoke to everyone who would listen and also spent time finding food, clothing, and shelter for those in need. The good man never shied away from talking and helping no matter how bad an individual's reputation or how destitute their circumstances.
Some of the people paid no attention to the man. They ignored his words and dismissed his actions. Others though heard and believed. They knew the presence of God through the man and found their lives changed. They kicked drug habits, turned away from evil that tempted them, and began the difficult journey to a new life.
Some left the streets never to look back again. Others had nowhere else to go and joined with the man in being the church in that inner city. The church grew and expanded as people saw the good works and recognized that the Holy Spirit was changing lives through the good man who had answered the call of God.
There were certain people who were not happy about what the man was doing. The pimps were angry that the man was telling prostitutes they were children of God and that their lives could change. The pushers were upset that the man and his church were helping drug addicts shake free of the spiritual and physical chains that enslaved them to addiction.
Those who hated the man and what God was doing through him attacked the man as he preached and proclaimed the good news. They tried to ensnare him with lies and stop him by intimidation. Their efforts did not end his ministry because God was with the man in what he was doing and he escaped their traps. The change and the transformation that was happening on the streets continued without slowing.
Many from outside the city heard what was taking place and came to the church and the man to see for themselves what was happening. One was a younger man who saw the word of God in action and stayed to minister in that church. As the good man who answered the call of God in his life grew older, the younger man did more and more to continue the good works and even started new things that enriched the church and the people who lived on the streets.
When the man who had first come to the area to answer the call of God grew older still and was unable to do many of the things he had once easily performed, the younger man came to him with a request. "Let me be your successor," he said. "I know the work that needs to be done and you know that I can continue everything that you started. Give me your blessing and tell others that I am the one who will lead this church after you are gone."
The older man shook his head. "I know the good things that you have done and know you are an asset to this church and the people who come to us. But it is not for me to decide who will continue this ministry."
The younger man was confused. He did not understand why the older man would not name him as his successor and asked a number of times to be recognized as the future leader of the church. Each time the older man refused.
"Perhaps you will lead. That is not for me to say."
The younger man struggled with those words. He doubted himself and what he was doing. He questioned why he was ministering on the streets if there was no certainty of his advancement. He prayed fervently asking God to tell him what he was supposed to do with his life as he continued to work and witness to the mystery of God in that place.
When the good man who answered the call of God and came to the inner city died, the younger man wept with the rest of the faithful. The younger man walked the streets and talked to the people still outside of the church. He considered what had been done and what was left to be done. He prayed again asking God to show him where he should be.
When the people in the church came and asked him to continue on as the successor to the man who had founded the church, the younger man had no difficulty answering. For he already knew he was where God wanted him to work and proclaim the good news.
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.
**************
StoryShare, June 27, 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
"The Plow" by Keith Hewitt
"Succession Journey" by Peter Andrew Smith
What's Up This Week
Historians tell us it's important to know where we've been so that we can understand where we are now and where we're going. But is it possible that the past can also bind us more than it guides us? Keith Hewitt explores this question in "The Plow." In his story "Succession Journey", Peter Andrew Smith reminds us that following in the footsteps of Jesus sometimes takes us to places we might never go on our own and at other times leads to where we already are.
* * * * * * * * *
The Plow
Keith Hewitt
Luke 9:51-62
"I heard from my friend at the seminary, Jamison -- he tells me you haven't written back to tell them you will be there in the Fall."
Jamison Lee looked across the kitchen table at his friend; half-smiled in response. "You always did like to cut to the chase, Obadiah. Now I know why you asked me to stop by after church."
"I'm old, Jamison -- I don't have time to waste." As if to punctuate the sentence, the old man coughed into a handkerchief balled up in his right hand, kept coughing until it ended in a deep, stuttering wheeze. Breath caught -- or at least briefly detained -- he folded the handkerchief to a cleaner spot, laid his hand in his lap, and fixed Jamison with a stare. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
Jamison considered the question, made space for his thoughts by taking a sip of water from a chipped ceramic cup. The water was cold, fresh from the well, and the taste of minerals was sweet. He'd drunk water from hundred of wells and rivers in half a dozen states, and none of them ever tasted like this -- tasted like home.
Obadiah, familiar with Jamison's ways, waited patiently -- as patiently as an old man could, anyway. He finally drew a slightly deeper breath, was about to speak, when Jamison stirred in his chair, the legs creaking slightly beneath the change in load. "It's like this, Reverend. I know you talked to your friends and helped me get into your old seminary."
"Didn't need that much help, Jamison. You're a decorated officer. And you're a lawyer -- the church is always especially glad to get one of you back from the other side."
Jamison smiled, then -- a flash that momentarily lit up even his eyes. "Nice. The point is, I appreciate all that you did. And a couple of months ago, I was sure it was the right thing to do -- I was pretty sure God was calling me to ministry."
"Then what changed?"
"Nothing."
The old man waited for the silence to pass; when it didn't, he cleared his throat, dabbed at his mouth and rumbled, "Hell's bells, Jamison, I'm too old for this. Get on with it."
Jamison took another sip of cool water, closed his eyes and felt it dance in his mouth and sparkle down his throat; there was nothing like it anywhere he had gone. He took a deep breath, let it out, opened his eyes again and met Obadiah's stare. "I've had time to think, Reverend. Time to think about what I've done in my life, and aside from not living a very godly life in general, I've killed a lot of men. And given orders that killed many, many more."
Obadiah leaned back in his chair, waved his free hand. "Ptah! I thought it might be something like that. Listen to me, Jamison -- there were millions of men in the War Between the States, on both sides. Are you going to sit there and tell me they are all excluded from serving God?"
Jamison hesitated. "Well, I --"
"I served in the militia in the Blackhawk War. I'm pretty sure I killed a few men. If I didn't, it's not for lack of trying." He put his hand to the white collar at his throat. "Does that mean I should take this off?"
"That was a long time ago."
"And so will this be, one day. In the meantime, are you excused from using the gifts God gave you, to serve him?" A fit of coughing chopped off his next words -- he held up one hand, one finger to say wait until the spasms passed. When he had caught his breath again, he leaned forward and said intensely, "That was war, Jamison. You did what you had to do because we were at war. There was no hate in it, no rage to kill -- just an unpleasant duty you had to do."
Jamison stared into the distance while he traced the scar that ran from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his right sideburn. "No," he said almost without feeling, "sometimes there was rage."
Obadiah hesitated -- he had never asked about the scar, and Jamison had never volunteered any information. "I don't know what it was like," he said finally, "but I know what you're like, Jamison. I married you and Elizabeth, and I buried her -- I've known you going on 25 years, in good times and bad. I wouldn't have recommended you for seminary if I didn't think you had the call, and the spark of God in you."
"It just seems like the bad times are stacked so high, Reverend -- I don't know how I can see past them."
Obadiah Strong considered this for a time, then stood up slowly, forcing old bones to obey his will. "Jamison Lee, have you ever plowed a field?"
Jamison looked at his friend and blinked a couple of times at the sudden change in direction. "Uh -- no. Why?"
"Then come with me." The old man led the way out of the kitchen without looking back, expecting to be obeyed. Jamison hesitated, then pushed his chair back and stood up, followed him out onto the porch and then across the yard to the patch of ground that would be a field of corn in a month or two. The old man insisted on growing his own food, though there were plenty in the congregation who would have fed him.
Obadiah was already harnessing a horse to the plow, which stood at the side of the field. "There's an art to plowing," he said, as he made the harness smooth, turned leather straps over so they were not twisted, buckled them securely. "Old Mary, here, will do the hard work, but she needs somebody back here, making sure the blade is turning the ground, and keeping it straight. Got to keep the furrows straight, to make the harvest easier. Understand?"
"No," Jamison admitted haplessly.
"You start here. Push down and make sure the blade is cutting into the clay, and then you tell Mary to start forward. And you keep pushing down, to make sure the blade's cutting, and you keep it straight -- you don't want to go wandering all over the place." He paused. "Check where you've been, as you go along -- make sure you're staying in a straight line." He checked the connection between plow and harness, held up the reins to Jamison. "Clear?"
"Not exactly." He accepted the reins anyway, pushed forward and down to make sure the blade was biting into the ground, then twitched the reins and made a clucking noise. Old Mary looked back at him, then at Obadiah, as if to question whether or not she should listen to the younger man. Obadiah waved, and she started forward with a jerk.
He had a hard time wrestling the blade into the ground, and it seemed as though the whole contraption wanted to wander from side to side. "Remember, check where you've been!" Obadiah reminded. Jamison looked back and found that they really were pulling to one side. He corrected, looked back again after a few feet, found that they were pulling off to the other side. He corrected again, kept checking over his shoulder and correcting until they had crossed the field. On the far side, the horse stopped, and he stumbled.
Obadiah, who had followed at a comfortable walking pace, pointed back. "Now look."
Jamison looked at the furrow of turned earth, snaking in gentle -- and not so gentle -- curves as it snaked from one side of the field to the other. "I guess I need more practice," he observed. "So is your point that I'm not fit to be a farmer, so ministry is the only thing I have left?"
Obadiah shrugged. "It's not looking good, is it? But I'll give you one more try." He helped navigate a turn, so that man, plow, and horse were standing about a yard to the left of the first, uneven furrow. "One more time."
"You're just doing this to get your field plowed," Jamison said.
The old man shrugged again, nodded forward. "Now go." As Jamison pushed down on the plow, biting once more into the ground, the old man tapped him on the shoulder. "See that?" He pointed across the field.
Jamison looked up, squinted in the sun directly ahead, in the direction Obadiah was pointing. "That pole?"
"Yep. Head toward that. Just bear down and head for that."
Jamison started to argue, then shrugged it off. "Whatever. Let's get this done." Once more, he twitched the reins and snickered at the horse. This time, she started off without checking with her owner. Again, Jamison lifted on the handles and pushed to keep the blade digging into the earth, and as he walked the old man shouted, "Remember! Guide on the pole!"
After what seemed like a little shorter time -- but maybe a little more work -- they were back at the side of the field where they had started. Once again, Obadiah had arrived at the same time, and once again he pointed back. "See how you did this time."
Jamison turned, expecting to see little improvement -- was shocked to see a nearly straight furrow pointing like an arrow from the far side of the field to the pole upon which he had fixed his focus. As he stood, studying what he had done, Obadiah stepped up next to him and admired the furrow as well. "Not bad, eh?" he asked finally.
Jamison nodded slowly. "I don't get it."
"It's not hard, son. That first time, you spent so much time looking back that you couldn't really judge where you were going. You were bound to get off track -- and stay off track -- that way. This time, you kept your eyes fixed on where you wanted to be, instead of where you'd been. From what I can see, that makes all the difference in the world." He looked up at him, then, with piercing eyes. "So tell me, what are you going to be doing this Fall?"
Jamison paused for a moment or two, then looked down at the old man and smiled. "You know, Obadiah -- as fine as that furrow is, I think I'll try my luck at fishing."
And the old man smiled.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT department at a major public safety testing organization.
Succession Journey
Peter Andrew Smith
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
There once was a good man who answered the call of God. He left the life he was leading and went to the streets of a poor inner city. He preached God's forgiveness and mercy to the junkies and prostitutes who lived and worked there. The good man told them of Jesus' death upon the cross to forgive their sins. He proclaimed Jesus rising from death and invited them to experience a new life through the living Christ.
He spoke to everyone who would listen and also spent time finding food, clothing, and shelter for those in need. The good man never shied away from talking and helping no matter how bad an individual's reputation or how destitute their circumstances.
Some of the people paid no attention to the man. They ignored his words and dismissed his actions. Others though heard and believed. They knew the presence of God through the man and found their lives changed. They kicked drug habits, turned away from evil that tempted them, and began the difficult journey to a new life.
Some left the streets never to look back again. Others had nowhere else to go and joined with the man in being the church in that inner city. The church grew and expanded as people saw the good works and recognized that the Holy Spirit was changing lives through the good man who had answered the call of God.
There were certain people who were not happy about what the man was doing. The pimps were angry that the man was telling prostitutes they were children of God and that their lives could change. The pushers were upset that the man and his church were helping drug addicts shake free of the spiritual and physical chains that enslaved them to addiction.
Those who hated the man and what God was doing through him attacked the man as he preached and proclaimed the good news. They tried to ensnare him with lies and stop him by intimidation. Their efforts did not end his ministry because God was with the man in what he was doing and he escaped their traps. The change and the transformation that was happening on the streets continued without slowing.
Many from outside the city heard what was taking place and came to the church and the man to see for themselves what was happening. One was a younger man who saw the word of God in action and stayed to minister in that church. As the good man who answered the call of God in his life grew older, the younger man did more and more to continue the good works and even started new things that enriched the church and the people who lived on the streets.
When the man who had first come to the area to answer the call of God grew older still and was unable to do many of the things he had once easily performed, the younger man came to him with a request. "Let me be your successor," he said. "I know the work that needs to be done and you know that I can continue everything that you started. Give me your blessing and tell others that I am the one who will lead this church after you are gone."
The older man shook his head. "I know the good things that you have done and know you are an asset to this church and the people who come to us. But it is not for me to decide who will continue this ministry."
The younger man was confused. He did not understand why the older man would not name him as his successor and asked a number of times to be recognized as the future leader of the church. Each time the older man refused.
"Perhaps you will lead. That is not for me to say."
The younger man struggled with those words. He doubted himself and what he was doing. He questioned why he was ministering on the streets if there was no certainty of his advancement. He prayed fervently asking God to tell him what he was supposed to do with his life as he continued to work and witness to the mystery of God in that place.
When the good man who answered the call of God and came to the inner city died, the younger man wept with the rest of the faithful. The younger man walked the streets and talked to the people still outside of the church. He considered what had been done and what was left to be done. He prayed again asking God to show him where he should be.
When the people in the church came and asked him to continue on as the successor to the man who had founded the church, the younger man had no difficulty answering. For he already knew he was where God wanted him to work and proclaim the good news.
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.
**************
StoryShare, June 27, 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.
