Of Pots And Potters
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Of Pots and Potters" by Larry Winebrenner
"A Letter from Simon" by Larry Winebrenner
"Wow! Flushies" by C. David McKirachan
"Remembering Me…" by C. David McKirachan
"That Difficult Side of Faith" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * * *
Of Pots and Potters
Larry Winebrenner
Jeremiah 18.1-8
The passage in Jeremiah that compares the LORD to the potter and Israel to clay has struck a responsive chord in the hearts of contemporary folk. The rousing hymn, "Have Thine Own way Lord, declares," "Thou art the Potter, I am the clay."
In another hymn, "Take my Life and Let it Be Consecrated" includes the words, "take me, mold me," an obvious reference to Jeremiah's potter experience.
Most folk, however have little actual knowledge of pottery making. Even modern potters may be ignorant of what Jeremiah's potter faced. So often modern potters buy the clay and have wheels that are pedal driven, if not mechanically turned.
Jeremiah's potter had to go to a clay pit, often discovered and dug by himself. [That's not chauvinism. Potters today are both male and female. In Jeremiah's time, potters were traditionally male.] He dug only what he needed immediately, lest the clay dry out, become hard, brittle.
His wheel was heavy and well balanced. He turned it by hand to get it up to speed. Because it was heavy, once he got it moving at a high rate of speed, it tended to continue to turn with an occasional slap of the hand, or gentle push with his foot on the edge of the wheel.
No one knows how long ago or where the pottery wheel was made. Certainly not in the Americas. At least no wheel made pottery or remains, nor wheel parts have been discovered by archaeologists. Lots of vessels and shards of pottery made by the coiling method have been found. The only evidence of the wheel in any form in pre-Columbian Americas is a child's toy with wheels.
The use of pottery wheels predate Jeremiah by thousands of years. An intact wheel and wheel parts from between 7 and 8 BC have been found in Mesopotamia at Ur.
Another evidence of the antiquity of the wheel can be found in an ancient Egyptian myth. In the myth of the god Khnum the god used a pottery wheel to form humans.
There is also a fable from ancient China about pots. It really has nothing to do with the Potter's wheel, though the pots in the story may have been created on one. After all, the ancient Chinese did make pots four feet high on pottery wheels.
In the Chinese fable, two water pots were taken to the spring daily to fetch water for household use. This worked very well until one day one of the pots suffered a crack.
The crack did not make the pot useless, but not so useful as it was when whole. It was still used to fetch water. As the maid returned with the pots, however, half the water leaked from the damaged pot.
The undamaged pot would scold the leaky pot.
"See?" it would say. "You are no good. You leak away half your water. I don't know why the Master doesn't toss you on the trash heap."
The broken pot would weep and wonder the same thing.
Day after day, all spring, on into mid-summer the maid fetched water. The cracked jug leaked water. The whole jug chastised the leaky pot.
Then, one mid summer's day, the master visited the house to inspect his property. The maid had a meticulous job of cleaning and caring for the property. The windows were clean. The rugs on the floor where the master sat to drink tea and entertain guests were spotless and laid out for use. The garden was full of blooming flowers.
Then the master entered the kitchen where the pots stood.
"Master," said the broken pot. "I have a confession to make, and a request."
"Yes?" said the master.
"All spring and summer when the maid has taken me to fetch water, I have leaked half of it before she reached the kitchen."
"And the request?"
"Since I am so useless, I wish to be thrown on the trash heap," replied the pot.
The master picked up the pot and carried it outside the house.
Now I shall go where I should have been taken since the day I was damaged thought the pot.
The master took the pot into the flower garden.
Do you see this beautiful flower garden?" asked the master. "It is on the south side of the path to the spring. Look at the north side of the path."
The pot did as it was bade. The north side of the path was dry and barren. Where the trash heap is thought the pot.
"When the maid reported to me that you were damaged and leaked as she carried water from the spring to the house, she wanted to toss you on the trash heap. I told her no, to carry you on the left side of the path. I have been using you all season to create this beautiful garden."
A Letter from Simon
Larry Winebrenner
Philemon 1
On a recent trip to Rome I was accosted by a man on the street. He was rather rotund, so I tried not to laugh when he spoke to me.
"Sir, I have not eaten for two days. Could you help me?"
There were tables next to the sidewalk. I headed for one of them and waved for him to follow. As we sat, a waiter appeared out of nowhere.
"Order two days hunger worth," I said.
I hesitate to give money to beggars. I plied that trade myself at one time. I often made more money at that pursuit than my brother-in-law did at his job. Most of my fellow beggars, and sister beggars, drank up their funds as rapidly as they received them.
Not wanting to contribute to the collection of a man whose income might surpass my own salary, nor feed someone's addiction, I simply look the person in the eye and say, "Sorry."
But my heavy friend's plea sounded so pathetic and genuine that I decided to spring for a meal.
He was, indeed, hungry. He ordered spaghetti and meat balls, a kind of pork-filled pastry, shrimp and pasta, and a bottle of wine with two glasses. I ordered a small mushroom pizza.
The waiter said something, the fat man laughed, and translated, "He says they do not serve American food here. I will explain what you want, but I don't think they have mushrooms. Anything else?"
I had recognized the Italian word for shrimp, so I said, "Shrimp."
As we ate, my dinner guest regaled me with stories about his background, mostly his claim that he was a direct descendant of the biblical Onesimus. He claimed that Onesimus had become a bishop after Paul's beheading in Rome.
His own ancestors had eventually wandered away from the faith, laughing at the fact that one of their ancestors was mentioned in the Bible and had become a bishop.
"I recently became a convert in a Protestant church. When that happened, I refused to work on Sundays in the family business. That, and my refusal to give them the letter, caused them to remove me from the business. They wanted to replicate the letter and sell it to naive tourists as the genuine thing."
"Letter?"
He looked around; then bent closely.
"It is from Onesimus to a friend."
Aha!
I thought. Here comes the scam. And after I gave him a meal.
"Wow!" I said. "I'm a minister. I'd really like to see that. I could tell my congregation about it and that I'd seen the actual letter."
"Better than that," he told me.
Here it comes I told myself.
"If you promise to keep the letter safe, I'll let you take it with you."
"How much?" I asked, pretending to go along with the scam.
He looked very hurt.
"You take me for a common criminal. I don't want to sell it. I never want to lose possession of it. Here in Rome it might be stolen. I don't think my family would kill me, but there's no limit to what greed might do. It will still be mine. You will simply be the caretaker."
"And you will trust me?" I asked doubtfully.
"I am a good judge of character," he told me. "Of all the tourists on the street, did I ask anyone else for help?"
"So, I am not to pay you anything, and I am to keep this in trust for you?" I still couldn't believe there wasn't a scam in the works here. "Do I get anything out of this deal?"
"You can have the letter if I die before I retrieve it. I will stipulate in my will that the one in possession of the letter when I die will be the sole and legal owner."
A sudden thought hit me.
"Does my possession of this treasure mean I am in danger?"
"Who is to know you have it. When you go through customs, show them the receipt that's with it. If they see it and question you. It is a legitimate receipt for a ten dollar souvenir. It will save you from further investigation and protect you from a charge of removing treasures of antiquity from Rome."
He handed me a plain brown envelope. I turned and started to walk away. Suddenly, I turned to ask his name.
He was gone.
The writing on the parchment was in ancient Latin. I never told the story to my congregation. I never showed anyone the letter.
That is, except Gara. Gara was a beautiful [still is] girl I had a crush on in high school. She teaches Latin at a Latin Grammar School in New York state.
Recently, she stopped in Beaufort, South Carolina, to visit family on her way to a Latin Teachers' Conference in Miami Florida. She ran into my cousin, Lorine. When she mentioned the conference at Miami-Dade College in Miami, Lorine said, "Larry used to teach there. He still lives in Miami." She gave Gara my phone number and suggested she call me.
When Gara called and told me what she was doing, I remembered the letter in my file cabinet.
I said, "Can we have lunch or supper while you're here? I have something I want to show you."
At lunch I showed her a photocopy of the one page letter in my possession. I didn't tell her where I got it, but asked if she could translate it.
"It's very ancient Latin," she said. "Where did you get it?"
"Souvenir from Rome."
She began, "The first couple of lines look fairly simple. 'Simon, a freeman but a slave...' Sounds like a humor piece."
"Could you write it down?" I asked.
"Let me keep this overnight and I'll see what I can do."
The next day she said, "This is no joke, but it is a very fine piece of creation of a supposed ancient document. If it were real, I'd guess it would be worth thousands of dollars. How much did you pay?"
"It was a gift."
"Oh. Then it's not real -- worth maybe $10, up to say $25 depending on the material it was written on."
Here is the translation she gave me.
* * *
Simon, a freeman but slave of Christ Jesus my Lord,
To Fetus, my best friend.
Mercy, grace, and peace in God, the Almighty, and Jesus Christ, the Lord.
My heart has longed much for you since our parting. Slaves have no friends. Or so I felt when my father's investments failed and our whole family was sold into slavery.
It might not have been so bad if our family were kept intact, but we were sold one by one like so much cattle.
I was bought by a wealthy man in Colossae. He belonged to a religious sect of the Jews called the followers of the way. Soon after I arrived my master gathered all the household together on the first day of the week.
He had invited a silver-tongued orator by the name Paul to address us on behalf of the way.
Now Fetus, you and I were raised to know about the gods, but neither of us really worshiped them. But this Paul was so persuasive that I felt drawn to the Jesus character he talked about. I kept my wits, though and did not become a follower.
Just to show my master I wasn't affected by his orator friend, I did as little as I could in his household. He renamed me "Useful" as a joke. Little did I know that it was because he was a follower of the way that kept him from flogging me for my indolence.
Fetus, my friend, how quickly things change. Even now I am on my way back to Rome to help care for this very same Paul, and serve him. You see, on a dark, moonless night, I stole my master's favorite jewel-encrusted drinking cup and ran away. Some day soon, I will see you and tell you of my adventures to Rome.
Suffice it to say the money from selling the cup soon was gone. I was caught stealing food and was about to be taken to prison as a thief and runaway. The master of the house I robbed told the soldier there, "No. This slave belongs to a friend. I will take responsibility for him and send him back under guard."
The master of the house was none other than Paul. He had appealed to Caesar on an unjust charge. He was waiting for justice in his own house under the same Roman soldier that caught me.
Paul taught me about Jesus in word and deed. He wrote a letter to my owner. He appealed for my forgiveness and for my return to serve him Philemon complied with Paul's request. Even now as free man and a follower of the way I am being sent back to serve Paul.
And to see you, dear Fetus. You, too, will join the way when I tell you all that Jesus has done for you.
* * *
Gara told me, "I hope your letter is genuine. Not so you get rich. So the world is enriched by more information about the early church."
So, what do you think? Is the letter a fake? Or real?
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Wow! Flushies
C. David McKirachan
Jeremiah 18:1-11
I was three years into an intercity ministry. It was brutal. It was hard to face the daily tragedies. Crime, poverty, hopelessness create a fertile field for despair. I came in there ready to change the world. The world was in the process of changing me, wearing me down, chipping, cracking, twisting my ideals and sense of capability in the crusher of the city.
I volunteered at a church camp in Northwestern New Jersey during the summer. Up there, I felt like I could breathe. One year I signed up to guide a canoe trip down the Delaware River. I don't know what gave me the idea that I could pull off making sure a dozen senior high's wouldn't kill themselves or each other while guiding them through over 90 miles of rapids, snags, camping, cooking, adolescent drama, water fights rivaling the naval battle from Ben Hur, and wet toilet paper. About a week from the start up, I began thinking the horror movies of the city might be preferable.
The three days of training went smoothly, if you don't mind pot holes. It took me twelve hours to recover from the swim test. The kids were shy, cocky, funny, terrified, in other words, they were teenagers. Robert Frost said, "The first green is gold…" And they were.
The week was a combination of Homer and Happy Days. Try watching a canoe dump in rapids, your charges bobbing between rocks, and your supplies scattering all over the river while maintaining some sort of calm. We broke paddles. We popped rivets in the canoes. Two of the boy babies insisted on showing how fast they could paddle. I let them go. The what ifs danced through my mind to the soundtrack of "Deliverance." I "punished" them by splitting them up. They just hated being stuck with girls. Oh please…
The last night a thunderstorm blew through our campsite and made mud out of everything. I woke up with my head on a log. At least it was out of the mud. When we stopped at the Delaware Water Gap and squished up to the visitors' center, people stared at us like barbarians skulking into civilization. We were a tribe, feathers, totems, special names et al. The kids were amazed by flush toilets, "flushies." A week can do a number on what you're used to. When the truck picked us up, the drivers told me that they hadn't expected us to make it through. "You know, the storms, water levels, tough bunch of kids, and the equipment." I sat there and laughed. I laughed at them and the camp and myself. I was ready to go back and do it again. I'd had a blast. Evidently the kids had too. There were a lot of tears, some to be expected. But I was surprised how they talked about the week changing them. They felt different. They felt closer to being "real people."
After three showers and a few hot meals that I didn't have to rescue from the fire, and a good amount of sleep, I went back to the city. Driving the car was interesting. I kept trying to back paddle.
The crusher hadn't changed. It was still mangling living things. But I realized I had. Somehow I was more humble and at the same time stronger. The tragedy of the city still made life difficult at every turn, but it wasn't hopeless. I wasn't hopeless. I was more "real."
I'd been mushed and pounded and shoved around by the river and a dozen kids and by the potter who needed a better bowl. The potter knew what He was doing. He made me and remade me, for His own use.
Remembering me…
C. David McKirachan
Philemon 1-21
Lately I've lost a lot of respect for some of the people who run our government and some of the people who run our corporations and some of the people who run our churches. No, I'm not in the Tea Party. And I don't paint with a broad stroke here. Many if not most individuals involved in the above groups are really trying their best to do a good job. But so many others seem bent on nothing but an all or nothing attitude that has nothing to do with good government, good business, or the gospel.
I have never read or heard of a passage in the Bible that said anything about making sure the person you disagree with goes down in flames just because you disagree with them. I've never heard or read anything about good business having to do with taking care of yourself first while nailing anybody handy especially if there's a buck or a few million in it. I've never read or heard anything from our founding fathers and mothers that said we should make sure we humiliate and hurt people from other parties or ideologies, refusing to negotiate or work on problems with them, making sure they are targeted for destruction so we can get elected. But all of this seems to be going on in the name of good government, good business, and good Christianity.
At camp we used to sing "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord." There's a verse, "We will work with each other, we will work side by side, And we'll guard each one's dignity and save each one's pride." But the kicker is, "They'll know we are Christians by our love."
Elvis Costello wrote "What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?" I guess I'm not the only one who feels this way, but sometimes when I hear some of the trash getting thrown around by "celebrities" about others, I wonder how many of us are left.
Paul sent an escaped slave back to his master with nothing but the gospel to enforce Philemon's good will. The apostle pushed it to the limit using no constraint but that of trust, trust founded in the Lord.
I was always taught that manners were ways of valuing others. I was taught to value others because the Lord did, and we needed to remember Him, especially when things got rough. So when I hear people not doing this I try to figure out ways of valuing them. Sometimes that isn't easy. I think that's part of what "Turn the other cheek" is about. Maybe our relationships matter more than winning. Maybe we need to trust each other in the Lord a little more. Maybe we need to read 1 Corinthians 13 more closely. Maybe we need to remember Him, even when we don't want to.
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).
The Difficult Side of Faith
Lamar Massingill
Luke 14:25-33
This is one of those Sundays most of us clergy just as soon skip, or either go to file 13 and pull out an oldie, but a goodie. Believe me, I have been a part of that fraternity many times! I have skipped class on these passages so many times I should have dropped them, but that's not how it works in life. These are still scripture, and we can't drop them like we would a course in college, and then be done with it (oh, but there are those many times I've wanted to!). These are hard sayings, hard passages. Faith is something that is more difficult than any other thing we do in our lives. If the faith and love of Jesus cost him his life, then it will probably tear us apart before it puts us together again. Jesus lived and died so we could live without the guilt and shame of our sin and woundedness. That's wonderful, but Jesus never said such a choice to follow him would be easy. Said William Sloane Coffin, "God offers minimum protection and maximum support." In fact, most who followed him followed him no more when they realized the cost. The lessons today are full of hard sayings, the promise of judgment, and the expectations of true discipleship. Behavior is important because it grows out of who we are, and God has some very real invitations for us, because of that cloud of witnesses watching and hoping. What we do matters. Then in the gospel, the talk about the division that the living of this faith often causes, even between members of our own families. I realize here that Jesus may have been using some hyperbole to get the point of following him as the most important thing, even over the ties of family. But "hate father and mother…" I know a literalist may have a problem with this, but I don't believe Jesus literally meant "hate." But following indeed may cause problems within a family.
We don't have to look past the faith of Jesus to know the divisiveness of his way. His own mother and brothers came to him at one point and basically told him to quit all this nonsense and get back into the carpentry shop. Come back home, you are out of your mind.
I went to seminary with a Jewish man whose family had disowned him because of his faith in Christ, let alone the fact that he was becoming a minister in that faith. Divisions? At times, I think we can count on it. The society at large is not going to accept this faith too easily either. We say we are a "Christian" country, but in light of what we do or not do to each other, I really don't believe it. It may be better said that we are a country that goes to church. But we know that all the religious activity in the world doesn't mean you are the church. Ask a person whether he or she is a Christian, the answer nine times out of ten is going to be yes. Ask the same people if they are followers of Jesus, you may see the same people back off of that one. It's too difficult to follow, let alone live as if you do. It's hard to be the human being that God has called you to be without receiving some battle scars along the journey.
So, all and all, this is not our usual Sunday fare. No gentle Jesus, and by the way, the society doesn't accept gentleness as a rule, but competition and violence. Not our usual Sunday fare, no meek Jesus, and by the way, meek means teachable, and society is anything but. The saying goes that "what we don't know won't hurt us," but I beg to differ: what we don't know is killing us and this country. Not our usual Sunday fare, no easy yokes or light burdens, and by the way, it's quite a burden to be who God wants you to be in a world that trying to make you into the image of its advertising billboards. Society is using us; not affirming us.
I heard a man say years ago that he doesn't make friends with anyone he can't use later. Needless to say, he's very lonely now. Not our usual Sunday fare, no kind words about love, concern, and forgiveness. Love? Just get stuck in traffic one day, and you will see all the "love" you care to see. Road rage, if not rage itself, is out of control. And when people get out of their cars to see what the holdup ahead is, and they find out its an accident, do you ever hear anything about those who might be suffering? Concern? I heard a man who is an electrical engineer say during the landfall of hurricane Clyde that he wished that it would hit Gulfport and go right up 49. "Why in the world?" I asked. And his answer? "Because it would be more business and more money for us for the electrical poles to be blown down. But don't get me wrong," he says, "I don't want anyone to get hurt." This man is not in touch with reality, let alone the mind of Christ. Forgiveness? In this society? Oh please, we'd rather sue!
There you have it my dear friends. This is the other side of faith, the side we don't embrace so willingly. The side that's difficult for us to live out in a society that is so violent, loveless, and unforgiving. And even if you live it out in your families, it could be divisive. I know people who just don't talk about it in their homes. Sad.
Well, I've left you with hardly any good news, but these passages are part of the whole gospel too. But here's the good news: there are exceptions in our society. And you know who they are? I say this sincerely, and with hope, the exceptions are we who follow Jesus, or try, despite our flaws. Yes we may get laughed at. Yes, we may have divisions from those you love. Yes, we will get talked about negatively. Yes, we may get threatened, assaulted, and harassed for living our faith, but take heart, the strength and the power of the one we call Lord will always go with us, and what better time to begin that journey than now? And remember the generous words of Jesus, "In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world!"
W. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, is now the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi. He also serves as religion editor for the Magnolia Gazette and as a guest columnist for the United Methodist Advocate and the Richton Dispatch. Massengill is the author of two books, New Eyes: A Spirituality of Identity Formation and Soul Places, and he has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He is a graduate of William Carey University and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.
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StoryShare, September 5, 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.
"Of Pots and Potters" by Larry Winebrenner
"A Letter from Simon" by Larry Winebrenner
"Wow! Flushies" by C. David McKirachan
"Remembering Me…" by C. David McKirachan
"That Difficult Side of Faith" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * * *
Of Pots and Potters
Larry Winebrenner
Jeremiah 18.1-8
The passage in Jeremiah that compares the LORD to the potter and Israel to clay has struck a responsive chord in the hearts of contemporary folk. The rousing hymn, "Have Thine Own way Lord, declares," "Thou art the Potter, I am the clay."
In another hymn, "Take my Life and Let it Be Consecrated" includes the words, "take me, mold me," an obvious reference to Jeremiah's potter experience.
Most folk, however have little actual knowledge of pottery making. Even modern potters may be ignorant of what Jeremiah's potter faced. So often modern potters buy the clay and have wheels that are pedal driven, if not mechanically turned.
Jeremiah's potter had to go to a clay pit, often discovered and dug by himself. [That's not chauvinism. Potters today are both male and female. In Jeremiah's time, potters were traditionally male.] He dug only what he needed immediately, lest the clay dry out, become hard, brittle.
His wheel was heavy and well balanced. He turned it by hand to get it up to speed. Because it was heavy, once he got it moving at a high rate of speed, it tended to continue to turn with an occasional slap of the hand, or gentle push with his foot on the edge of the wheel.
No one knows how long ago or where the pottery wheel was made. Certainly not in the Americas. At least no wheel made pottery or remains, nor wheel parts have been discovered by archaeologists. Lots of vessels and shards of pottery made by the coiling method have been found. The only evidence of the wheel in any form in pre-Columbian Americas is a child's toy with wheels.
The use of pottery wheels predate Jeremiah by thousands of years. An intact wheel and wheel parts from between 7 and 8 BC have been found in Mesopotamia at Ur.
Another evidence of the antiquity of the wheel can be found in an ancient Egyptian myth. In the myth of the god Khnum the god used a pottery wheel to form humans.
There is also a fable from ancient China about pots. It really has nothing to do with the Potter's wheel, though the pots in the story may have been created on one. After all, the ancient Chinese did make pots four feet high on pottery wheels.
In the Chinese fable, two water pots were taken to the spring daily to fetch water for household use. This worked very well until one day one of the pots suffered a crack.
The crack did not make the pot useless, but not so useful as it was when whole. It was still used to fetch water. As the maid returned with the pots, however, half the water leaked from the damaged pot.
The undamaged pot would scold the leaky pot.
"See?" it would say. "You are no good. You leak away half your water. I don't know why the Master doesn't toss you on the trash heap."
The broken pot would weep and wonder the same thing.
Day after day, all spring, on into mid-summer the maid fetched water. The cracked jug leaked water. The whole jug chastised the leaky pot.
Then, one mid summer's day, the master visited the house to inspect his property. The maid had a meticulous job of cleaning and caring for the property. The windows were clean. The rugs on the floor where the master sat to drink tea and entertain guests were spotless and laid out for use. The garden was full of blooming flowers.
Then the master entered the kitchen where the pots stood.
"Master," said the broken pot. "I have a confession to make, and a request."
"Yes?" said the master.
"All spring and summer when the maid has taken me to fetch water, I have leaked half of it before she reached the kitchen."
"And the request?"
"Since I am so useless, I wish to be thrown on the trash heap," replied the pot.
The master picked up the pot and carried it outside the house.
Now I shall go where I should have been taken since the day I was damaged thought the pot.
The master took the pot into the flower garden.
Do you see this beautiful flower garden?" asked the master. "It is on the south side of the path to the spring. Look at the north side of the path."
The pot did as it was bade. The north side of the path was dry and barren. Where the trash heap is thought the pot.
"When the maid reported to me that you were damaged and leaked as she carried water from the spring to the house, she wanted to toss you on the trash heap. I told her no, to carry you on the left side of the path. I have been using you all season to create this beautiful garden."
A Letter from Simon
Larry Winebrenner
Philemon 1
On a recent trip to Rome I was accosted by a man on the street. He was rather rotund, so I tried not to laugh when he spoke to me.
"Sir, I have not eaten for two days. Could you help me?"
There were tables next to the sidewalk. I headed for one of them and waved for him to follow. As we sat, a waiter appeared out of nowhere.
"Order two days hunger worth," I said.
I hesitate to give money to beggars. I plied that trade myself at one time. I often made more money at that pursuit than my brother-in-law did at his job. Most of my fellow beggars, and sister beggars, drank up their funds as rapidly as they received them.
Not wanting to contribute to the collection of a man whose income might surpass my own salary, nor feed someone's addiction, I simply look the person in the eye and say, "Sorry."
But my heavy friend's plea sounded so pathetic and genuine that I decided to spring for a meal.
He was, indeed, hungry. He ordered spaghetti and meat balls, a kind of pork-filled pastry, shrimp and pasta, and a bottle of wine with two glasses. I ordered a small mushroom pizza.
The waiter said something, the fat man laughed, and translated, "He says they do not serve American food here. I will explain what you want, but I don't think they have mushrooms. Anything else?"
I had recognized the Italian word for shrimp, so I said, "Shrimp."
As we ate, my dinner guest regaled me with stories about his background, mostly his claim that he was a direct descendant of the biblical Onesimus. He claimed that Onesimus had become a bishop after Paul's beheading in Rome.
His own ancestors had eventually wandered away from the faith, laughing at the fact that one of their ancestors was mentioned in the Bible and had become a bishop.
"I recently became a convert in a Protestant church. When that happened, I refused to work on Sundays in the family business. That, and my refusal to give them the letter, caused them to remove me from the business. They wanted to replicate the letter and sell it to naive tourists as the genuine thing."
"Letter?"
He looked around; then bent closely.
"It is from Onesimus to a friend."
Aha!
I thought. Here comes the scam. And after I gave him a meal.
"Wow!" I said. "I'm a minister. I'd really like to see that. I could tell my congregation about it and that I'd seen the actual letter."
"Better than that," he told me.
Here it comes I told myself.
"If you promise to keep the letter safe, I'll let you take it with you."
"How much?" I asked, pretending to go along with the scam.
He looked very hurt.
"You take me for a common criminal. I don't want to sell it. I never want to lose possession of it. Here in Rome it might be stolen. I don't think my family would kill me, but there's no limit to what greed might do. It will still be mine. You will simply be the caretaker."
"And you will trust me?" I asked doubtfully.
"I am a good judge of character," he told me. "Of all the tourists on the street, did I ask anyone else for help?"
"So, I am not to pay you anything, and I am to keep this in trust for you?" I still couldn't believe there wasn't a scam in the works here. "Do I get anything out of this deal?"
"You can have the letter if I die before I retrieve it. I will stipulate in my will that the one in possession of the letter when I die will be the sole and legal owner."
A sudden thought hit me.
"Does my possession of this treasure mean I am in danger?"
"Who is to know you have it. When you go through customs, show them the receipt that's with it. If they see it and question you. It is a legitimate receipt for a ten dollar souvenir. It will save you from further investigation and protect you from a charge of removing treasures of antiquity from Rome."
He handed me a plain brown envelope. I turned and started to walk away. Suddenly, I turned to ask his name.
He was gone.
The writing on the parchment was in ancient Latin. I never told the story to my congregation. I never showed anyone the letter.
That is, except Gara. Gara was a beautiful [still is] girl I had a crush on in high school. She teaches Latin at a Latin Grammar School in New York state.
Recently, she stopped in Beaufort, South Carolina, to visit family on her way to a Latin Teachers' Conference in Miami Florida. She ran into my cousin, Lorine. When she mentioned the conference at Miami-Dade College in Miami, Lorine said, "Larry used to teach there. He still lives in Miami." She gave Gara my phone number and suggested she call me.
When Gara called and told me what she was doing, I remembered the letter in my file cabinet.
I said, "Can we have lunch or supper while you're here? I have something I want to show you."
At lunch I showed her a photocopy of the one page letter in my possession. I didn't tell her where I got it, but asked if she could translate it.
"It's very ancient Latin," she said. "Where did you get it?"
"Souvenir from Rome."
She began, "The first couple of lines look fairly simple. 'Simon, a freeman but a slave...' Sounds like a humor piece."
"Could you write it down?" I asked.
"Let me keep this overnight and I'll see what I can do."
The next day she said, "This is no joke, but it is a very fine piece of creation of a supposed ancient document. If it were real, I'd guess it would be worth thousands of dollars. How much did you pay?"
"It was a gift."
"Oh. Then it's not real -- worth maybe $10, up to say $25 depending on the material it was written on."
Here is the translation she gave me.
* * *
Simon, a freeman but slave of Christ Jesus my Lord,
To Fetus, my best friend.
Mercy, grace, and peace in God, the Almighty, and Jesus Christ, the Lord.
My heart has longed much for you since our parting. Slaves have no friends. Or so I felt when my father's investments failed and our whole family was sold into slavery.
It might not have been so bad if our family were kept intact, but we were sold one by one like so much cattle.
I was bought by a wealthy man in Colossae. He belonged to a religious sect of the Jews called the followers of the way. Soon after I arrived my master gathered all the household together on the first day of the week.
He had invited a silver-tongued orator by the name Paul to address us on behalf of the way.
Now Fetus, you and I were raised to know about the gods, but neither of us really worshiped them. But this Paul was so persuasive that I felt drawn to the Jesus character he talked about. I kept my wits, though and did not become a follower.
Just to show my master I wasn't affected by his orator friend, I did as little as I could in his household. He renamed me "Useful" as a joke. Little did I know that it was because he was a follower of the way that kept him from flogging me for my indolence.
Fetus, my friend, how quickly things change. Even now I am on my way back to Rome to help care for this very same Paul, and serve him. You see, on a dark, moonless night, I stole my master's favorite jewel-encrusted drinking cup and ran away. Some day soon, I will see you and tell you of my adventures to Rome.
Suffice it to say the money from selling the cup soon was gone. I was caught stealing food and was about to be taken to prison as a thief and runaway. The master of the house I robbed told the soldier there, "No. This slave belongs to a friend. I will take responsibility for him and send him back under guard."
The master of the house was none other than Paul. He had appealed to Caesar on an unjust charge. He was waiting for justice in his own house under the same Roman soldier that caught me.
Paul taught me about Jesus in word and deed. He wrote a letter to my owner. He appealed for my forgiveness and for my return to serve him Philemon complied with Paul's request. Even now as free man and a follower of the way I am being sent back to serve Paul.
And to see you, dear Fetus. You, too, will join the way when I tell you all that Jesus has done for you.
* * *
Gara told me, "I hope your letter is genuine. Not so you get rich. So the world is enriched by more information about the early church."
So, what do you think? Is the letter a fake? Or real?
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Wow! Flushies
C. David McKirachan
Jeremiah 18:1-11
I was three years into an intercity ministry. It was brutal. It was hard to face the daily tragedies. Crime, poverty, hopelessness create a fertile field for despair. I came in there ready to change the world. The world was in the process of changing me, wearing me down, chipping, cracking, twisting my ideals and sense of capability in the crusher of the city.
I volunteered at a church camp in Northwestern New Jersey during the summer. Up there, I felt like I could breathe. One year I signed up to guide a canoe trip down the Delaware River. I don't know what gave me the idea that I could pull off making sure a dozen senior high's wouldn't kill themselves or each other while guiding them through over 90 miles of rapids, snags, camping, cooking, adolescent drama, water fights rivaling the naval battle from Ben Hur, and wet toilet paper. About a week from the start up, I began thinking the horror movies of the city might be preferable.
The three days of training went smoothly, if you don't mind pot holes. It took me twelve hours to recover from the swim test. The kids were shy, cocky, funny, terrified, in other words, they were teenagers. Robert Frost said, "The first green is gold…" And they were.
The week was a combination of Homer and Happy Days. Try watching a canoe dump in rapids, your charges bobbing between rocks, and your supplies scattering all over the river while maintaining some sort of calm. We broke paddles. We popped rivets in the canoes. Two of the boy babies insisted on showing how fast they could paddle. I let them go. The what ifs danced through my mind to the soundtrack of "Deliverance." I "punished" them by splitting them up. They just hated being stuck with girls. Oh please…
The last night a thunderstorm blew through our campsite and made mud out of everything. I woke up with my head on a log. At least it was out of the mud. When we stopped at the Delaware Water Gap and squished up to the visitors' center, people stared at us like barbarians skulking into civilization. We were a tribe, feathers, totems, special names et al. The kids were amazed by flush toilets, "flushies." A week can do a number on what you're used to. When the truck picked us up, the drivers told me that they hadn't expected us to make it through. "You know, the storms, water levels, tough bunch of kids, and the equipment." I sat there and laughed. I laughed at them and the camp and myself. I was ready to go back and do it again. I'd had a blast. Evidently the kids had too. There were a lot of tears, some to be expected. But I was surprised how they talked about the week changing them. They felt different. They felt closer to being "real people."
After three showers and a few hot meals that I didn't have to rescue from the fire, and a good amount of sleep, I went back to the city. Driving the car was interesting. I kept trying to back paddle.
The crusher hadn't changed. It was still mangling living things. But I realized I had. Somehow I was more humble and at the same time stronger. The tragedy of the city still made life difficult at every turn, but it wasn't hopeless. I wasn't hopeless. I was more "real."
I'd been mushed and pounded and shoved around by the river and a dozen kids and by the potter who needed a better bowl. The potter knew what He was doing. He made me and remade me, for His own use.
Remembering me…
C. David McKirachan
Philemon 1-21
Lately I've lost a lot of respect for some of the people who run our government and some of the people who run our corporations and some of the people who run our churches. No, I'm not in the Tea Party. And I don't paint with a broad stroke here. Many if not most individuals involved in the above groups are really trying their best to do a good job. But so many others seem bent on nothing but an all or nothing attitude that has nothing to do with good government, good business, or the gospel.
I have never read or heard of a passage in the Bible that said anything about making sure the person you disagree with goes down in flames just because you disagree with them. I've never heard or read anything about good business having to do with taking care of yourself first while nailing anybody handy especially if there's a buck or a few million in it. I've never read or heard anything from our founding fathers and mothers that said we should make sure we humiliate and hurt people from other parties or ideologies, refusing to negotiate or work on problems with them, making sure they are targeted for destruction so we can get elected. But all of this seems to be going on in the name of good government, good business, and good Christianity.
At camp we used to sing "We are one in the Spirit, we are one in the Lord." There's a verse, "We will work with each other, we will work side by side, And we'll guard each one's dignity and save each one's pride." But the kicker is, "They'll know we are Christians by our love."
Elvis Costello wrote "What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?" I guess I'm not the only one who feels this way, but sometimes when I hear some of the trash getting thrown around by "celebrities" about others, I wonder how many of us are left.
Paul sent an escaped slave back to his master with nothing but the gospel to enforce Philemon's good will. The apostle pushed it to the limit using no constraint but that of trust, trust founded in the Lord.
I was always taught that manners were ways of valuing others. I was taught to value others because the Lord did, and we needed to remember Him, especially when things got rough. So when I hear people not doing this I try to figure out ways of valuing them. Sometimes that isn't easy. I think that's part of what "Turn the other cheek" is about. Maybe our relationships matter more than winning. Maybe we need to trust each other in the Lord a little more. Maybe we need to read 1 Corinthians 13 more closely. Maybe we need to remember Him, even when we don't want to.
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).
The Difficult Side of Faith
Lamar Massingill
Luke 14:25-33
This is one of those Sundays most of us clergy just as soon skip, or either go to file 13 and pull out an oldie, but a goodie. Believe me, I have been a part of that fraternity many times! I have skipped class on these passages so many times I should have dropped them, but that's not how it works in life. These are still scripture, and we can't drop them like we would a course in college, and then be done with it (oh, but there are those many times I've wanted to!). These are hard sayings, hard passages. Faith is something that is more difficult than any other thing we do in our lives. If the faith and love of Jesus cost him his life, then it will probably tear us apart before it puts us together again. Jesus lived and died so we could live without the guilt and shame of our sin and woundedness. That's wonderful, but Jesus never said such a choice to follow him would be easy. Said William Sloane Coffin, "God offers minimum protection and maximum support." In fact, most who followed him followed him no more when they realized the cost. The lessons today are full of hard sayings, the promise of judgment, and the expectations of true discipleship. Behavior is important because it grows out of who we are, and God has some very real invitations for us, because of that cloud of witnesses watching and hoping. What we do matters. Then in the gospel, the talk about the division that the living of this faith often causes, even between members of our own families. I realize here that Jesus may have been using some hyperbole to get the point of following him as the most important thing, even over the ties of family. But "hate father and mother…" I know a literalist may have a problem with this, but I don't believe Jesus literally meant "hate." But following indeed may cause problems within a family.
We don't have to look past the faith of Jesus to know the divisiveness of his way. His own mother and brothers came to him at one point and basically told him to quit all this nonsense and get back into the carpentry shop. Come back home, you are out of your mind.
I went to seminary with a Jewish man whose family had disowned him because of his faith in Christ, let alone the fact that he was becoming a minister in that faith. Divisions? At times, I think we can count on it. The society at large is not going to accept this faith too easily either. We say we are a "Christian" country, but in light of what we do or not do to each other, I really don't believe it. It may be better said that we are a country that goes to church. But we know that all the religious activity in the world doesn't mean you are the church. Ask a person whether he or she is a Christian, the answer nine times out of ten is going to be yes. Ask the same people if they are followers of Jesus, you may see the same people back off of that one. It's too difficult to follow, let alone live as if you do. It's hard to be the human being that God has called you to be without receiving some battle scars along the journey.
So, all and all, this is not our usual Sunday fare. No gentle Jesus, and by the way, the society doesn't accept gentleness as a rule, but competition and violence. Not our usual Sunday fare, no meek Jesus, and by the way, meek means teachable, and society is anything but. The saying goes that "what we don't know won't hurt us," but I beg to differ: what we don't know is killing us and this country. Not our usual Sunday fare, no easy yokes or light burdens, and by the way, it's quite a burden to be who God wants you to be in a world that trying to make you into the image of its advertising billboards. Society is using us; not affirming us.
I heard a man say years ago that he doesn't make friends with anyone he can't use later. Needless to say, he's very lonely now. Not our usual Sunday fare, no kind words about love, concern, and forgiveness. Love? Just get stuck in traffic one day, and you will see all the "love" you care to see. Road rage, if not rage itself, is out of control. And when people get out of their cars to see what the holdup ahead is, and they find out its an accident, do you ever hear anything about those who might be suffering? Concern? I heard a man who is an electrical engineer say during the landfall of hurricane Clyde that he wished that it would hit Gulfport and go right up 49. "Why in the world?" I asked. And his answer? "Because it would be more business and more money for us for the electrical poles to be blown down. But don't get me wrong," he says, "I don't want anyone to get hurt." This man is not in touch with reality, let alone the mind of Christ. Forgiveness? In this society? Oh please, we'd rather sue!
There you have it my dear friends. This is the other side of faith, the side we don't embrace so willingly. The side that's difficult for us to live out in a society that is so violent, loveless, and unforgiving. And even if you live it out in your families, it could be divisive. I know people who just don't talk about it in their homes. Sad.
Well, I've left you with hardly any good news, but these passages are part of the whole gospel too. But here's the good news: there are exceptions in our society. And you know who they are? I say this sincerely, and with hope, the exceptions are we who follow Jesus, or try, despite our flaws. Yes we may get laughed at. Yes, we may have divisions from those you love. Yes, we will get talked about negatively. Yes, we may get threatened, assaulted, and harassed for living our faith, but take heart, the strength and the power of the one we call Lord will always go with us, and what better time to begin that journey than now? And remember the generous words of Jesus, "In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world!"
W. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, is now the minister at Richton United Methodist Church in Richton, Mississippi. He also serves as religion editor for the Magnolia Gazette and as a guest columnist for the United Methodist Advocate and the Richton Dispatch. Massengill is the author of two books, New Eyes: A Spirituality of Identity Formation and Soul Places, and he has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He is a graduate of William Carey University and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary.
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StoryShare, September 5, 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.
