Rauch
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Rauch" by C. David McKirachan
"Claustrophobia" by David O. Bales
* * * * * * * *
Ruach
by C. David McKirachan
Acts 2:1-21
He was four, just big enough to enforce the "No" and "Mine" with more developed language. He fought with anything that looked like authority about anything that made conflict possible. He was "establishing identity" according to the counselor with whom I shared my angst. He was grabbing for power. Dinner time, bed time, play time, school time, any time was another battle. I was pooped.
I took him on a jaunt to a park where we could rent a basic sailboat for the afternoon. He didn't want to wear the life jacket, but I gave him the choice (power) of wearing it and going on the boat or not wearing it and going home. It didn't take long to get him into the vest. We sailed around for a few minutes and I pointed the boat into the wind. We lost momentum and came to a stop. I told him that the rope I was going to give him was like the gas pedal in the car. If you pulled the rope, we went faster. If you let it out we'd slow down. Then I handed him the rope. His eyes got big. I put the rudder over and we drifted off the luff. I said, "Okay, pull."
Sailing is one of the most spiritual activities I know. It requires a finely developed sense of humility and patience because you don't go anywhere without the cooperation of the wind. Keeping the sail full of wind requires attention and a constant adjustment of rudder and sheets (those are the lines that come from the bottom corners of the sails). When the wind fills the sail, you feel more than a tug on the rope. It is the wind, "Ruach" in Hebrew. It's the same word they used for "Spirit." It's what moved across the deep at creation. It's not an atmospheric disturbance, it's power, raw elemental power in your hand.
That day, on that big pond, in that little boat, the storms of our relationship were stilled. He gave up his search for power and I relaxed only focused on keeping the breeze in the sail. Teaching him to duck when we came about was a ton of fun but even that became part of the dance that day out there on the water. The spirit of creation blew into our small lives and left us with a peace that passes understanding.
He still struggles for power. Life isn't easy for him. But even as a man, with bigger issues than bed time, he remembers that day on the pond. And he remembers that I trusted him with the power of the wind.
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).
Claustrophobia
by David O. Bales
John 20:19-23
Until today no stranger had walked into Pastor Rahlf's office and said, "Tell me about your sermon last Sunday."
All Pastor Rahlf could respond was, "Ah, I'm Monty Rahlf." He held out his hand, "And you?"
"Lake," he said. "Name's Ray Lake. Everybody calls me Lake." He was about forty. His face was drawn and his words strained. His handshake was weak and shaky.
"Have a seat," Monty said.
Lake sat, folded his hands in his lap, and looked down. Monty sat opposite him. Lake didn't speak. After half a minute Monty said, "You came about last Sunday's sermon?"
Lake looked up, "Yeah, the title was on the marquee."
Monty felt a ping of guilt. He had no qualms about the sermon title for his congregation, but he'd debated whether to publicize it to the community.
"You saw the title on the marquee," Monty nodded, encouraging Lake to say more.
"Uh huh," he said with a little cringe. "When I was driving by."
"It troubled you?"
Lake relaxed a little, "Not at the time."
"What can I tell you?" Monty said, "More importantly, why do you want to know?"
"It said, 'Faith is Claustrophobic.' I've never heard of such a thing and I...."
Monty leaned forward and spoke quietly, "I see this bothers you. I'd like to understand what's going on and what does last week's sermon have to do with it."
Lake sighed, shook his head to clear his thinking, "Okay. I'm from Idaho. Took two days' drive to get here. You know the Ramsey house?"
"Everybody does. Charming old place, sitting on that hill with all the trees around."
"That was my great uncle's."
"Oh."
"I'd heard his name but never met him. I've never met any relatives. Dad and Mom are dead. A month ago I got a letter that my Great Uncle Ellis Ramsey died. I was his only relative. The house and grounds are mine -- free and clear -- and some money.
"When I could arrange it, I came, and on my way into town I saw your sermon title, 'Faith is Claustrophobic.' Catchy. It didn't mean anything to me until after the attorney left me at the house and I went prowling around."
Lake swallowed hard, "I wasn't there ten minutes until I wandered into this little room, turned on the light, shut the door after me, and the doorknob came off in my hand. I looked at this old knob and it didn't even have a set screw in it. The shaft was still sticking out toward me but nothing to turn it with."
Lake breathed deeply, "This room was absolutely empty -- no windows -- and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't turn that shaft without some kind of tool."
"Scary," Monty said.
"Man, I panicked. I kind of ran in circles a few minutes. Took a while just to get my breathing back."
"How'd you get out?"
"I tried to budge the door. Couldn't spring the pins from the hinges. Then I started using my keys to scratch a hole to get my hand through the door and turn the knob from the other side.
"I started to get bothered by claustrophobia. I thought about the Star Wars scene in the gigantic trash compactor and felt the walls squeezing in on me. So I scratched harder but it also tired me out. I'd sleep and then scratch again, alternating my hands." He held out his hands. They were red and bruised. "It sounded like a cat trying to get out of a shoe box."
"After a day I was getting thirsty. Thinking about water made me imagine I was in a doomed submarine with water gushing in. It was terrible." He held his feet on his tip-toes and rapidly raised and lowered his heels, shaking the floor.
"I remembered your sermon title. I was angry about it and fascinated at the same time. I was sweating my way through the door with tiny scratches and making God all kinds of promises. Two and a half days," he sighed, "before," he pulled out his key chain and showed two bent keys, "I got a hole large enough to reach my hand through and turn that blessed knob from the other side." He huffed up his shoulders and blew out, experiencing the release again.
For the first time Lake had a faint smile, "So, I've told you. You tell me what in the world faith has to do with claustrophobia."
Monty was glad to be able to laugh, although nervously. "I'll put it as briefly as I can but don't tell the congregation I can summarize a sermon in a couple sentences. They'll opt for the short version."
"Sure," Lake said and grinned.
"I talked about Jesus on the night of his resurrection meeting his disciples who were huddling behind locked doors for fear. My point was that Jesus is alive and his message must get out -- like from Jesus' tomb and from the disciples' locked room --, and the tremendous fear we humans have of being locked in is slightly comparable in degree to the divine compulsion to get out the good news of Jesus' resurrection. I've experienced claustrophobia and God's love and they're both tremendously strong things. God's love is stronger. And God's Spirit wants to get out of us to others."
"You've been claustrophobic?" Lake asked.
"Still am. While you were telling about your accidental imprisonment, believe me, this room was getting smaller."
"No kidding!" Lake said.
"Yeah," Monty said. Perspiration covered his forehead. He stood and looked out the window, "You hungry?"
"I think I'll be hungry for another couple days," Lake said.
"You want lunch? We can catch a bite and I can explain more about the Christian faith. And I can show you a little of the town."
"Fine," Lake said.
"And," Monty said, "how about we choose a restaurant with a large seating area?"
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
"Rauch" by C. David McKirachan
"Claustrophobia" by David O. Bales
* * * * * * * *
Ruach
by C. David McKirachan
Acts 2:1-21
He was four, just big enough to enforce the "No" and "Mine" with more developed language. He fought with anything that looked like authority about anything that made conflict possible. He was "establishing identity" according to the counselor with whom I shared my angst. He was grabbing for power. Dinner time, bed time, play time, school time, any time was another battle. I was pooped.
I took him on a jaunt to a park where we could rent a basic sailboat for the afternoon. He didn't want to wear the life jacket, but I gave him the choice (power) of wearing it and going on the boat or not wearing it and going home. It didn't take long to get him into the vest. We sailed around for a few minutes and I pointed the boat into the wind. We lost momentum and came to a stop. I told him that the rope I was going to give him was like the gas pedal in the car. If you pulled the rope, we went faster. If you let it out we'd slow down. Then I handed him the rope. His eyes got big. I put the rudder over and we drifted off the luff. I said, "Okay, pull."
Sailing is one of the most spiritual activities I know. It requires a finely developed sense of humility and patience because you don't go anywhere without the cooperation of the wind. Keeping the sail full of wind requires attention and a constant adjustment of rudder and sheets (those are the lines that come from the bottom corners of the sails). When the wind fills the sail, you feel more than a tug on the rope. It is the wind, "Ruach" in Hebrew. It's the same word they used for "Spirit." It's what moved across the deep at creation. It's not an atmospheric disturbance, it's power, raw elemental power in your hand.
That day, on that big pond, in that little boat, the storms of our relationship were stilled. He gave up his search for power and I relaxed only focused on keeping the breeze in the sail. Teaching him to duck when we came about was a ton of fun but even that became part of the dance that day out there on the water. The spirit of creation blew into our small lives and left us with a peace that passes understanding.
He still struggles for power. Life isn't easy for him. But even as a man, with bigger issues than bed time, he remembers that day on the pond. And he remembers that I trusted him with the power of the wind.
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).
Claustrophobia
by David O. Bales
John 20:19-23
Until today no stranger had walked into Pastor Rahlf's office and said, "Tell me about your sermon last Sunday."
All Pastor Rahlf could respond was, "Ah, I'm Monty Rahlf." He held out his hand, "And you?"
"Lake," he said. "Name's Ray Lake. Everybody calls me Lake." He was about forty. His face was drawn and his words strained. His handshake was weak and shaky.
"Have a seat," Monty said.
Lake sat, folded his hands in his lap, and looked down. Monty sat opposite him. Lake didn't speak. After half a minute Monty said, "You came about last Sunday's sermon?"
Lake looked up, "Yeah, the title was on the marquee."
Monty felt a ping of guilt. He had no qualms about the sermon title for his congregation, but he'd debated whether to publicize it to the community.
"You saw the title on the marquee," Monty nodded, encouraging Lake to say more.
"Uh huh," he said with a little cringe. "When I was driving by."
"It troubled you?"
Lake relaxed a little, "Not at the time."
"What can I tell you?" Monty said, "More importantly, why do you want to know?"
"It said, 'Faith is Claustrophobic.' I've never heard of such a thing and I...."
Monty leaned forward and spoke quietly, "I see this bothers you. I'd like to understand what's going on and what does last week's sermon have to do with it."
Lake sighed, shook his head to clear his thinking, "Okay. I'm from Idaho. Took two days' drive to get here. You know the Ramsey house?"
"Everybody does. Charming old place, sitting on that hill with all the trees around."
"That was my great uncle's."
"Oh."
"I'd heard his name but never met him. I've never met any relatives. Dad and Mom are dead. A month ago I got a letter that my Great Uncle Ellis Ramsey died. I was his only relative. The house and grounds are mine -- free and clear -- and some money.
"When I could arrange it, I came, and on my way into town I saw your sermon title, 'Faith is Claustrophobic.' Catchy. It didn't mean anything to me until after the attorney left me at the house and I went prowling around."
Lake swallowed hard, "I wasn't there ten minutes until I wandered into this little room, turned on the light, shut the door after me, and the doorknob came off in my hand. I looked at this old knob and it didn't even have a set screw in it. The shaft was still sticking out toward me but nothing to turn it with."
Lake breathed deeply, "This room was absolutely empty -- no windows -- and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't turn that shaft without some kind of tool."
"Scary," Monty said.
"Man, I panicked. I kind of ran in circles a few minutes. Took a while just to get my breathing back."
"How'd you get out?"
"I tried to budge the door. Couldn't spring the pins from the hinges. Then I started using my keys to scratch a hole to get my hand through the door and turn the knob from the other side.
"I started to get bothered by claustrophobia. I thought about the Star Wars scene in the gigantic trash compactor and felt the walls squeezing in on me. So I scratched harder but it also tired me out. I'd sleep and then scratch again, alternating my hands." He held out his hands. They were red and bruised. "It sounded like a cat trying to get out of a shoe box."
"After a day I was getting thirsty. Thinking about water made me imagine I was in a doomed submarine with water gushing in. It was terrible." He held his feet on his tip-toes and rapidly raised and lowered his heels, shaking the floor.
"I remembered your sermon title. I was angry about it and fascinated at the same time. I was sweating my way through the door with tiny scratches and making God all kinds of promises. Two and a half days," he sighed, "before," he pulled out his key chain and showed two bent keys, "I got a hole large enough to reach my hand through and turn that blessed knob from the other side." He huffed up his shoulders and blew out, experiencing the release again.
For the first time Lake had a faint smile, "So, I've told you. You tell me what in the world faith has to do with claustrophobia."
Monty was glad to be able to laugh, although nervously. "I'll put it as briefly as I can but don't tell the congregation I can summarize a sermon in a couple sentences. They'll opt for the short version."
"Sure," Lake said and grinned.
"I talked about Jesus on the night of his resurrection meeting his disciples who were huddling behind locked doors for fear. My point was that Jesus is alive and his message must get out -- like from Jesus' tomb and from the disciples' locked room --, and the tremendous fear we humans have of being locked in is slightly comparable in degree to the divine compulsion to get out the good news of Jesus' resurrection. I've experienced claustrophobia and God's love and they're both tremendously strong things. God's love is stronger. And God's Spirit wants to get out of us to others."
"You've been claustrophobic?" Lake asked.
"Still am. While you were telling about your accidental imprisonment, believe me, this room was getting smaller."
"No kidding!" Lake said.
"Yeah," Monty said. Perspiration covered his forehead. He stood and looked out the window, "You hungry?"
"I think I'll be hungry for another couple days," Lake said.
"You want lunch? We can catch a bite and I can explain more about the Christian faith. And I can show you a little of the town."
"Fine," Lake said.
"And," Monty said, "how about we choose a restaurant with a large seating area?"
David Bales was a Presbyterian pastor for 33 years, a graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary. In addition to his ministry he also has taught college: World Religions, Ethics, Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Greek (lately at College of Idaho, Caldwell). He has been a freelance writer for Stephen Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Interpretation, Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching the Great Texts and other publications. For a year he wrote the online column "In The Original: Insights from Greek and Hebrew for the Lectionary Passages." His books include: Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace, Toward Easter and Beyond, Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story, and To the Cross and Beyond: Cycle A Sermons for Lent and Easter. Dave has been a writer for StoryShare for five years. He can be reached at dobales.com.
