Reading Past The Semicolon
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Reading Past the Semicolon" by John Ball
"Too Close for Comfort" by C. David McKirachan
"My Rock and my Salvation" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Hope is a powerful force. It can drive a man dying in the desert to press on toward a distant oasis. It can take us farther than we ever thought we could go. As Christians, we know where our hope is found, and we know it is secure. However, there are still days when hope seems distant and lost, with despair creeping up on us. In "Reading Past the Semicolon," John Ball examines how Israel looked hopefully past the struggles they faced and how we can, too. In "Too Close for Comfort," C. David McKirachan shows us how Jesus would entice us past our senses and experiences toward a new hope that only he could give. He also assures us that even when times seem hopeless, we have a constant companion who rides out the storms of life with us in "My Rock and my Salvation."
* * * * * * * * *
Reading Past the Semicolon
By John Ball
Isaiah 49:1-7
I know of someone who never misses a noonday radio broadcast of Paul Harvey. Paul is an American icon whose trademark is closing out his daily broadcast with an interesting story. Often his story is about a person in crisis, or who has experienced some unusual circumstance. Without noticing, his listeners begin to tune in to the narrative. Then just short of the conclusion, Harvey breaks for a commercial and entices his listeners to stay tuned for "the rest of the story." Only card-carrying misanthropes turn the dial to another station. The faithful listeners then hear how someone overcame great odds, or whose perseverance brought success and personal satisfaction.
I thought of Paul Harvey and my friend when looking at the fourth verse of the Hebrew Bible lection for today. In the lection, God is telling Israel that they will become God's special servant: "You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified." However, complains that they are an unlikely candidate for this mission: "I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity" -- semicolon!
Miraculously Israel pushes past the semicolon, beyond their reluctance to pick up their commission, and breaking out into an extraordinary affirmation of faith: "Yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God." A whole lot hangs on reading past the semicolons in our journey with God.
H. A. Williams in his True Resurrection tells of a man betrayed by a colleague, once his close friend. The betrayal provoked deep resentment and an unwillingness to forgive his former friend. This continued for many years until one day he discovered within himself the power to forgive. We may argue the source of the forgiveness past his semicolon of resentment. Whatever the source, he read past the semicolon of betrayal and again welcomed his colleague into his inner circle.
All of us meet many semicolons, filling our lives with misery, pessimism, and hopelessness. Yet, we must be open to reading beyond these crippling semicolons, to where life takes on new power, strength, and hope. If Isaiah does not awaken us to these possibilities, then take it from Paul Harvey -- do not overlook the promise caught up in "the rest of the story."
The Rev. John T. Ball is a retired Elder of the West Ohio Conference of the United Methodist church. Educated at the Ohio State University and the Boston University School of Theology, he served numerous appointments for over forty years. He is married to Ellen, has three grown children and fourteen grandchildren. John enjoys tennis, plays in the Greater Columbus Concert Band, and with Ellen is a member of his local political party. He has previously written for the Circuit Rider, and several CSS publications of the lection sermon series. Several local newspapers have published excerpts from his memoirs.
Too Close for Comfort
By C. David McKirachan
John 1:29-42
Seeing is a different opportunity than it used to be. In this latter day, we "see" through technology. We are invited to be voyeurs, one step back from what is going on through the tube or on the other side of the internet or up there on the other side of the rainbow of the big screen. Seeing has become a largely passive operation.
To see in former times, one had to be in the vicinity of the situation being seen. To be a witness was to be there, literally. One had to be in the thick of it to get a view close enough to see what was going on, there were no satellite links or cell phones that did video.
The other day I watched a football game that hung on the call of the referee. The commentators, having watched the play backward and forward from every angle imaginable, came to the conclusion that the ref was wrong and therefore the game that followed didn't really portray the "real" winner and loser. It's obvious that our senses aren't dependable as we participate in a situation. We need to have some sort of back up that will allow us to be at least a few rows away to get a better view. I mean after all, we might get confused or involved or maybe even emotionally influenced by what was going on around us. Better set up those links. We might not be seeing what we think we see.
Part of our confirmation process is unpacking the Sunday service. They bang the sermon and the worship experience around from their own perspective and hear ours. It's called interactive learning. During Advent one of them made the comment, "I didn't really like the music we had today. It was kind of weird. It sounded like... ancient. But," here he smiled, "it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck." Obviously, he wasn't "listening" objectively. Obviously, he was too involved in a manipulative situation to make a judgment about what was going on. Poor boy. He should learn to listen to the instant replay. It's much more dependable.
When Jesus told his visitors to "Come and see," He was suckering them into a situation. He was seducing them, sneaking up on them, nudging them toward one of those hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-their-neck experiences. Those experiences are some of the most important experiences in our lives. "Observing" our religion from a distance just isn't enough. We are invited to come and see right up close and personal. We are invited to leave our objectivity at the door and get into the thick of it. Probably we won't understand or make sense of the best of it. We might even get a little frightened or awed. We might get uncomfortable. Angels tend to do that to people. I wonder what they look like on an instant replay?
My Rock and my Salvation
By C. David McKirachan
Psalm 40:1-11
I went to see my neurologist for a normal check up. I sat there rattling on for a while. He interjected, "David, do you know you're depressed?" My mouth opened to object. Nothing came out. I realized he was right.
Depression is not having a bad day. It's being angry and exhausted. It's like trying to move through peanut butter filled with glass. You end up immobile and bloody. It's a miry bog. There's no way to get a foothold to begin moving. All you can do is sink.
Probably the worst thing about such a swamp is the loneliness. There is nobody that can touch you in there. Nobody knows the way into that snake-infested mess because this sinkhole is customized to fit the poor wretch who lives there. If anybody comes near, they excite all the grim and slimy nasties that squirm in the fetid paste. Up those beasties come spouting fear and self-judgment and pain. So visitors are not welcome. Every one of their words of concern reminds us of the cesspool we're swimming in. Every one of their hopes for us demonstrates the hopelessness of our slimy situation.
I learned a few things there. I learned to never underestimate the depth of pain with which some wrestle. I learned that there is almost nothing I, or anyone, can say that will make things better, and I learned that even in the dark horror of that hell, God is still Emmanuel, God with us.
My doctor helped me. But on the journey out the prayers and hopes of people who loved me became glimmers of possibility, memories of what life could be again. They reminded me that Love is not limited to waterfront property. Love even wades into the swamp of horror.
I thank God I visited that suburb of hell. It was an educational trip. I thank God it was a short tour. Now, when I visit the black mire through which people slog, I thank God for the rock beneath my feet. Never take it for granted. When the ground begins to feel like jello, I remember who's in there with me.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, January 20, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"Reading Past the Semicolon" by John Ball
"Too Close for Comfort" by C. David McKirachan
"My Rock and my Salvation" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
Hope is a powerful force. It can drive a man dying in the desert to press on toward a distant oasis. It can take us farther than we ever thought we could go. As Christians, we know where our hope is found, and we know it is secure. However, there are still days when hope seems distant and lost, with despair creeping up on us. In "Reading Past the Semicolon," John Ball examines how Israel looked hopefully past the struggles they faced and how we can, too. In "Too Close for Comfort," C. David McKirachan shows us how Jesus would entice us past our senses and experiences toward a new hope that only he could give. He also assures us that even when times seem hopeless, we have a constant companion who rides out the storms of life with us in "My Rock and my Salvation."
* * * * * * * * *
Reading Past the Semicolon
By John Ball
Isaiah 49:1-7
I know of someone who never misses a noonday radio broadcast of Paul Harvey. Paul is an American icon whose trademark is closing out his daily broadcast with an interesting story. Often his story is about a person in crisis, or who has experienced some unusual circumstance. Without noticing, his listeners begin to tune in to the narrative. Then just short of the conclusion, Harvey breaks for a commercial and entices his listeners to stay tuned for "the rest of the story." Only card-carrying misanthropes turn the dial to another station. The faithful listeners then hear how someone overcame great odds, or whose perseverance brought success and personal satisfaction.
I thought of Paul Harvey and my friend when looking at the fourth verse of the Hebrew Bible lection for today. In the lection, God is telling Israel that they will become God's special servant: "You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified." However, complains that they are an unlikely candidate for this mission: "I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity" -- semicolon!
Miraculously Israel pushes past the semicolon, beyond their reluctance to pick up their commission, and breaking out into an extraordinary affirmation of faith: "Yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God." A whole lot hangs on reading past the semicolons in our journey with God.
H. A. Williams in his True Resurrection tells of a man betrayed by a colleague, once his close friend. The betrayal provoked deep resentment and an unwillingness to forgive his former friend. This continued for many years until one day he discovered within himself the power to forgive. We may argue the source of the forgiveness past his semicolon of resentment. Whatever the source, he read past the semicolon of betrayal and again welcomed his colleague into his inner circle.
All of us meet many semicolons, filling our lives with misery, pessimism, and hopelessness. Yet, we must be open to reading beyond these crippling semicolons, to where life takes on new power, strength, and hope. If Isaiah does not awaken us to these possibilities, then take it from Paul Harvey -- do not overlook the promise caught up in "the rest of the story."
The Rev. John T. Ball is a retired Elder of the West Ohio Conference of the United Methodist church. Educated at the Ohio State University and the Boston University School of Theology, he served numerous appointments for over forty years. He is married to Ellen, has three grown children and fourteen grandchildren. John enjoys tennis, plays in the Greater Columbus Concert Band, and with Ellen is a member of his local political party. He has previously written for the Circuit Rider, and several CSS publications of the lection sermon series. Several local newspapers have published excerpts from his memoirs.
Too Close for Comfort
By C. David McKirachan
John 1:29-42
Seeing is a different opportunity than it used to be. In this latter day, we "see" through technology. We are invited to be voyeurs, one step back from what is going on through the tube or on the other side of the internet or up there on the other side of the rainbow of the big screen. Seeing has become a largely passive operation.
To see in former times, one had to be in the vicinity of the situation being seen. To be a witness was to be there, literally. One had to be in the thick of it to get a view close enough to see what was going on, there were no satellite links or cell phones that did video.
The other day I watched a football game that hung on the call of the referee. The commentators, having watched the play backward and forward from every angle imaginable, came to the conclusion that the ref was wrong and therefore the game that followed didn't really portray the "real" winner and loser. It's obvious that our senses aren't dependable as we participate in a situation. We need to have some sort of back up that will allow us to be at least a few rows away to get a better view. I mean after all, we might get confused or involved or maybe even emotionally influenced by what was going on around us. Better set up those links. We might not be seeing what we think we see.
Part of our confirmation process is unpacking the Sunday service. They bang the sermon and the worship experience around from their own perspective and hear ours. It's called interactive learning. During Advent one of them made the comment, "I didn't really like the music we had today. It was kind of weird. It sounded like... ancient. But," here he smiled, "it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck." Obviously, he wasn't "listening" objectively. Obviously, he was too involved in a manipulative situation to make a judgment about what was going on. Poor boy. He should learn to listen to the instant replay. It's much more dependable.
When Jesus told his visitors to "Come and see," He was suckering them into a situation. He was seducing them, sneaking up on them, nudging them toward one of those hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-their-neck experiences. Those experiences are some of the most important experiences in our lives. "Observing" our religion from a distance just isn't enough. We are invited to come and see right up close and personal. We are invited to leave our objectivity at the door and get into the thick of it. Probably we won't understand or make sense of the best of it. We might even get a little frightened or awed. We might get uncomfortable. Angels tend to do that to people. I wonder what they look like on an instant replay?
My Rock and my Salvation
By C. David McKirachan
Psalm 40:1-11
I went to see my neurologist for a normal check up. I sat there rattling on for a while. He interjected, "David, do you know you're depressed?" My mouth opened to object. Nothing came out. I realized he was right.
Depression is not having a bad day. It's being angry and exhausted. It's like trying to move through peanut butter filled with glass. You end up immobile and bloody. It's a miry bog. There's no way to get a foothold to begin moving. All you can do is sink.
Probably the worst thing about such a swamp is the loneliness. There is nobody that can touch you in there. Nobody knows the way into that snake-infested mess because this sinkhole is customized to fit the poor wretch who lives there. If anybody comes near, they excite all the grim and slimy nasties that squirm in the fetid paste. Up those beasties come spouting fear and self-judgment and pain. So visitors are not welcome. Every one of their words of concern reminds us of the cesspool we're swimming in. Every one of their hopes for us demonstrates the hopelessness of our slimy situation.
I learned a few things there. I learned to never underestimate the depth of pain with which some wrestle. I learned that there is almost nothing I, or anyone, can say that will make things better, and I learned that even in the dark horror of that hell, God is still Emmanuel, God with us.
My doctor helped me. But on the journey out the prayers and hopes of people who loved me became glimmers of possibility, memories of what life could be again. They reminded me that Love is not limited to waterfront property. Love even wades into the swamp of horror.
I thank God I visited that suburb of hell. It was an educational trip. I thank God it was a short tour. Now, when I visit the black mire through which people slog, I thank God for the rock beneath my feet. Never take it for granted. When the ground begins to feel like jello, I remember who's in there with me.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, January 20, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
