Receiving Grace
Stories
Contents
“Receiving Grace” by Peter Andrew Smith
“God’s Light Without A Sun” by David O. Bales
“Remember Your Baptism” by David O. Bales
Receiving Grace
by Peter Andrew Smith
Mark 1:4-11
Dave stood on the beach on Sunday morning where the congregation was gathering for worship and prayed softly to himself.
“Lord, you know that I haven’t always been a good person. I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve done many things that I’m ashamed of. I’ve been a terrible father to Terry and avoided my responsibilities to his mother.” Dave wiped at his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the life that I’ve lived, and I want to change, I want to be a better person, for you, for them and for me, too.”
Dave took a deep breath. “I’ve started going to meetings. I’m holding down a steady job and I’ve cleaned up my life. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been trying. I’m trying but I don’t know if I can keep going. There are temptations everywhere and honestly sometimes I find it just so hard to get through the day and do what is right. Help me, I pray. Help me to be the person I should be. Amen.”
The pastor started the service and Dave joined with the prayers, he listened to the soloist sing of God’s grace, and he hung on every word of the reading about John baptizing people. As they got closer to the time for the baptisms that morning, he came forward with the others. He nodded to them and looked at their faces. Joanie was beaming and seemed so happy to be baptized. Luke shuffled toward the water and even he seemed excited. Sadie stumbled as she made her way on the sand and Dave was amazed at the elderly woman’s determination to come to the front to make her vows.
Standing in front of the pastor, Dave felt exposed and a fraud. He didn’t belong with Joanie so young and innocent, with Luke who volunteered at the food bank, or with Sadie whose faith was so rock solid and sure. He was racked with doubt and uncertainty. Dave wondered how God could ever accept him given the mess he had made in his life.
The pastor asked him if he believed in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit and that was easy. Of course, Dave believed. He knew God made everything, that Jesus died on the cross for sinners, and that the Holy Spirit blessed the faithful. So, the words easily left his mouth.
Then the pastor asked if he renounced the power of evil and turned away from sin and toward God. Again, that was easy for Dave to answer. He knew that path was nothing but heartache and ruin, so the words came from his mouth without hesitation.
The pastor asked if he would be faithful in joining with the congregation in being the people of God, in reading the Bible, and in growing in faith. Dave had no problem with those words either because he found coming to church helped him in the week and he knew the great things that the people in the congregation were doing. He had the Bible the pastor gave him when he started coming to church and he read it every day and he prayed as well. So, he answered with no problem.
Everyone started moving toward the water and Dave watched and waited. Joanie was first and when she came back up out of the water everyone cheered and she waved. She looked so happy. Luke sputtered and wiped his face but even he grinned as the congregation cheered for him. Sadie held her nose and everyone laughed as she went down under the water and came up again. She looked so peaceful and content. The pastor motioned for Dave to come forward and he found it hard to move forward. He wasn’t a good person like the others, he wasn’t worthy of everything the pastor spoke about.
“Just relax, Dave, I’ve got you.” the pastor said as he gently put Dave under the water.
Dave felt the coolness wash over him and as he came back out of the water and heard the cheers he felt at peace. He knew in that moment that God not only forgave him for his sins but welcomed him home. He understood that Jesus not only died for him, but loved him deeply and completely. He realized that the Holy Spirit was not merely for other people but was also for him. Dave wept openly as he waded back to the shore. For Dave realized that he was not merely a new person, he was one of God’s people through God’s love and God’s grace.
* * *
God’s Light Without A Sun
by David O. Bales
Genesis 1:1-5
“Don’t you see?” Lonnie scowled and held her hand toward the rest of the senior high youth group. “There was light before there was even a sun.”
Reverend Esther grinned. She’d been recruited out of retirement to teach Bible for the senior high youth. She was more and more liking this “resident skeptic” as the youth group leader called Lonnie.
Lonnie’s statement prompted the rest of the group to turn to Charles, the crew-cut football player who always felt called upon to defend God—as he conceived God to be—and noted by his expression that Lonnie’s comment upset him. The group waited for him to respond. While he flexed a shoulder, as he did immediately before making a speech defending God, Reverend Esther spoke, “Right. Precisely, and you notice that because you’re a modern person. Now, consider this: 3,400 years ago, no one would have blinked at the idea.”
Charles gave an uncertain smile, which allowed Reverend Esther to continue without needing to step in as umpire between an instinctive skeptic and a true believer. Esther was thrilled to meet with students who were so quick to shout their opinions, be those opinions ever so slightly supported. She thought Lonnie was a jewel: forced to attend the youth group by her parents and bringing worked-up religious rebellion with her. Although the other students didn’t realize it, they benefited by hearing discussion from opposite ends of faith. With Charles always supporting faith, this group was a microcosm of the church.
“The reason ancient people didn’t hesitate a blink about the light before the sun is because they weren’t scientifically trained citizens of a post-industrial society. You’ve stumbled into why light arrived before the sun.”
Lonnie appeared unconvinced, but she listened to Esther, so did Charles. Then Lonnie said, “So why the sun at all?” A question which didn’t draw an answer from anyone.
“Let me lift the view higher,” Esther said. “The problem of sun or no-sun or the sequence of light-to-sun is irrelevant. Ancient people responded to poetry. That tells us something about God and the Bible. God communicates with us in a manner we can understand. God informed the ancient Hebrews about creation in a way that all ancient people reasoned about the most important things: poetry. Genesis chapter 1 is a massive poem, which, by the way, outdid the creation poems of other ancient people. When our ancestors in the faith heard the creation story they didn’t go home saying, ‘Wow, I’m really glad I learned that the earth orbits the sun.”
Charles was catching on that Esther might not be defending God the way he expected. He made a little grunt that meant he was trying to come up with a suitable response.
Esther gazed around the group face by face, “Think about those ancient Hebrews. Almost no one could read or write. They were internet deprived.” That got a laugh. “Step back into a gathering of the faithful as the priests chanted Genesis chapter 1. What did they learn? The big bang theory?”
No one answered.
Lonnie, putting skeptical force in her voice said, “Well, what?”
“They realized they were included in this grand scheme created by God. The chapter’s listing of creation’s order and the repetitions of God’s work weren’t arranged to help believers dredge scientific data from the poem. Instead, the listeners were surrounded by it. Penetrated by it. All occurring by means of a poem like an ancient song. That chanting of creation’s unfolding taught them that God made them and all else. The order wasn’t most important to them. Their realization of their place in God’s world was.”
Esther leaned toward the students and nodded to Lonnie on her right and to Charles on her left. “It still happens. I’ve seen it. Not exactly the same way.” She perceived that the group was willing to listen to her for a while.
“My final year of seminary was as an intern in a large congregation. That church took a daring step in ministry. They supported a Christian custodial service that hired newly released prisoners. The business aimed to rehabilitate people into society. All staff were Christians and all employees had to attend therapy groups. Still, many church members felt it was a risky step.
“My ministry as seminary intern was with youth—you people’s age, although I was only a few years older—and anything that had to do with education. That meant by some twisted reasoning, I became the liaison with the custodial company. The supervisor was Della, about my age. We hit it off, which helped, because we had several problems to iron out with their workers. We ended up snooping around more to make sure they weren’t stealing than if they worked well. Sometimes we swished in after a cleaner and finished the job. Even at the time we weren’t sure we aided the workers in becoming responsible.
“One evening at the church after I’d worked late, I heard the janitorial crew arriving and rustling around in their assigned areas. Della dashed into my office, ‘Here, here, come, come.’ She motioned for me to follow quickly. She led me up the stairs to the sanctuary’s balcony, whispered a young man’s name, and said she’d finally gotten onto him. I thought she meant she’d been following him and caught him stealing. Yet she was smiling and shushing me, creeping tiptoe to the balcony. ‘Every night, now,’ she said. ‘Brendan.’ I knew Brendan. He’d been with them four months and had an attitude. But the company people gathered around to teach, support, and pray for him. Pretty difficult to get someone to drop their identity as a gang member and live within God’s grace. One day he’d work hard, the next he’d loaf. One day he’d be agreeable, the next a nuisance to anyone nearby.
“We stopped at the balcony’s side. Della pointed in the dark toward the pulpit. Its reading light clicked on. The speaker system popped on. The switch was in the pulpit along with switches for all the sanctuary lights.
“‘In the beginning.’ It was Brendan’s voice on the speaker. One sanctuary light came on. ‘God created the heavens and the earth’ and a second sanctuary light switched on. ‘The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep,’ a third sanctuary light lit up, ‘while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.’ A fourth light popped on. Brendan continued to read, ‘Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light,’ at which he flipped on the last four banks of lights. Moments before the sanctuary was only darkness and now ablaze with light. ‘And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness he called night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.’ The speaker buzzed off.
“We peeked around and glimpsed Brendan walk slowly, almost reverently, from the pulpit. He grabbed his vacuum sweeper, switched it on, and began work. ‘He’s getting there,’ Della said. ‘No kidding,’ I said.
“Right there Brendan demonstrated not that he was beginning to understand a heliocentric universe but realizing that he was God’s beloved creation. No sun, but God’s light radiated all around him. He was getting there. By entering a poem, get it?” she said.
Lonnie tilted her head to the side with a slight positive gesture. Charles said, “Well ….”
Preaching point: God’s light penetrating different kinds of worlds.
* * *
Remember Your Baptism
by David O. Bales
Psalm 29
The evening’s servers had cleared the potluck dishes and were setting out the desserts. The Conquerors, the church’s older church members, had left the dinner tables and were seated in rows. Linnea raised her voice over the last clinging of plates and bowls. “Our first day in Israel we were told the Arab proverb, ‘Never trust a pilgrim’s tale.’ So, you can choose to trust us or not.” She got a laugh from the group. “For those who haven’t met her yet, this is my sister Margo,” she said, pointing to Margo in the front row who turned around and said, “I’ve never decided if I trust her.” That got a bigger laugh.
“We left the U.S. in a dash. Two days after, Margo finally retired. We landed back home three nights ago. Pastor Mel had set me up to relate our journey soon before the glow wore off.”
Pastor Mel in the front with Margo waved, “We’re expecting an inspiring report.”
Linnea nodded knowingly to Margo, “The glow has washed off, but the disorientation hasn’t. Only seven days ago we were ten time zones away, on the other side of the world, standing by the Jordan River. It seems like an eternity ago. Psychologically for me, distance equals time. If we’re this far away from where we were, it should be later in the month.” She swished her hand in front of her face to dismiss the thought.
“We were shuttled around Israel in a Mercedes bus, large as a railroad boxcar and ultra- luxurious, restrooms no less. In my mind, our driver was always accelerating too fast, cutting corners too short and braking too hard. I stopped looking at the road ahead. Tourist busses, dozens of them, line up outside every Christian shrine like a string of square-nosed mechanical elephants, nose to tail at the circus. You’d think tourism entirely funds Israel’s national budget.
Very little courtesy was exchanged between the different tour bus companies. Each bus raced to disgorge its cargo before the next. Busses never yielded. At one sharp corner in Jerusalem, our bus met another and neither driver would retract his mirror. Their mirrors locked and the drivers had their heads out the windows yelling at one another, honking heard from Damascus to Cairo, and took a minute before each bus reversed a bit and both drivers pulled in their mirror to pass.
“I suppose our tour was the usual. Neither of us had been on a tour before, except of the state fairgrounds. Back and forth, we zipped between sites. One man wanted to see where all the biblical battles were fought, and one woman wanted to see where Jesus handed candy to the children. We viewed mostly ancient sights—Old Testament, New Testament, and early Christian. As country girls, we enjoyed the orchards of lemons and oranges, olives and figs, bananas -- but no coconuts. One of the modern points we visited was the National Water Carrier—huge system of canals, pumps, reservoirs and tunnels to transfer water from north to south. The guide said, ‘When it storms like you hear in Psalm 29, this is where the water goes.’
“Our guide resembled a carnival barker. The first morning he balanced up front in the aisle, pinned on his microphone, and said, ‘Have we got a tour for you!’ Then, the bus jerked ahead, and he grabbed the pole by the door, nonchalantly trying to disguise his posture of holding on for dear life. Every day, he swept our view toward the landscape as if it were paradise renewed. He seemed incapable of speaking without waving, which often put him in jeopardy as he forgot to grasp his pole. He always spoke of the ‘Holy Land,’ as if Israel’s map had been renamed.
“Nora, our travel agent, had sold this tour to others and said her customers were pleased. They agreed with the brochure promising a central event at the Jordan River where people heard about John the Baptist and Jesus and where they could be re-baptized. At the Jordan, a week ago today—far away but not long ago—we noticed the driver and the guide were on their cell phones. People were out in the Jordan repeating this most important event in their religious life and these two stood on the bank chatting on their phones. More than half of us chose not to be re-baptized, but we all responded to the pastor’s call to join in prayer to remember our baptism, which was quite meaningful, didn’t you think Margo?”
“Yeah. Afterwards, I kind of regretted I didn’t wade in the water also.”
“Well,” Linnea said, “You’d soon have another chance.” Margo chuckled and nodded. Linnea said, “Remember the Arab proverb? Well, we soon experienced that the baptism episode wasn’t over.” She gave a wry smile. “Margo, you want to say anything?”
“No, no. You’re doing fine.”
“Okay, we’d only driven an hour when the guide disclosed why he was on his cell. He was contacting other busses scattered around Israel, which is not, by the way, very large. In the western U.S., we have counties almost as large. The other busses reported where rain was hitting so the tours could divert to dry sights. The upshot was we didn’t find one. The rain found us.
“The guide was bending down and looking forward and soon we all were struggling to glimpse what we were driving into. Looked as though we approached a black wall. The guide spoke, ‘Remember Psalm 29, the storm, the glory of the Lord: Here it comes!’
“We drove into a cloudburst. Worst I’ve seen. The wadis on the right of the bus were instantly full of water rushing down. Little grass to slow the stream, only a few bushes. In no time the culverts spilled across the road. The guide stretched an arm towards us and spoke nervously, ‘Too bad we can’t save this for the National Water Carrier. Heh heh. This will help you remember your baptism. Heh heh.’ Then the bus slowed, and he turned back to his tense position, bent slightly to look forward.
“Margo and I were raised on the Washington coast with flash floods. Washington’s foothills have a lot more vegetation than Israel’s. As this flood crested the road, I wasn’t worried because for sure there wouldn’t be any logs floating across.
“The guide also didn’t seem worried, even when the driver halted the bus in front of a broad gusher across the pavement. Margo and I sat near the front. From there the huge windshield seemed like a movie screen with the driver and guide in profile. Believe me, all eyes were on that screen. The guide turned again to us, ‘We have these rains sometimes; but this might be a hundred-year flood.’ Margo said to me, ‘Or a 4000-year flood’ and we laughed, laughter which stopped quickly.
“The guide had left his microphone on and argued with the driver. We saw them sideways, haggling in Hebrew. The guide gesturing forward, urging the driver on. The driver, a man who’d proved his ability to argue, disagreeing. Yet, in a minute, the guide stepped over to him and pointed like a general to a private. The driver clenched his teeth but settled onto his seat and drove forward into the water. That’s when we looked at the flood and saw no logs, but brush had clumped together and was now rushing toward us in a mass large as a house. Hit the front of the bus. People screamed loud enough to pulverize the walls of Jericho.
“When Margo and I were kids, our family had relatives for dinner. Can’t remember the occasion. I was about ten, which made Margo eight. When it was time for the roast to come to the table, surrounded by potatoes, carrots and onions on a giant platter, Mom had me deliver it. Did fine until I leaned over to place it down, at which it tipped, and I watched in slow motion as gravity slid it onto the fruit salad and Uncle Jim’s lap.
“That’s what I thought of in the instant after this raft of brush smashed into the front of the bus. The front shifted left and dropped down a yard over the road’s edge, pivoting like the rear was a hinge, and gravity began moving the contents of the bus, us tourists, slowly forward.”
Linnea paused. “We were there for half an hour until the water subsided and we got out and walked up the muddy asphalt fifty yards to wait for another bus. The tour’s promise of the Jordan’s baptism as a central event proved accurate. When we stood around with our fellow tourists in the excited chattering that followed, we all agreed that one way or the other during the day, we’d all very seriously recalled our baptism.
“That’s all I have to say,” she said, flinging her hands out to her side. She turned to Pastor Mel, smiling. The Conquerors clapped and Pastor Mel stood, “I expected inspiration and we also heard of adventure. Wonderful. Thank you.”
Linnea said, “Any questions?” And without pausing, continued, “Ask Margo. Time for her to sing for her supper. I’m going to have my dessert now.”
Preaching point: Danger leads our thoughts to God’s promise to us in baptism.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 10, 2021 issue.
Copyright 2021 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.
“Receiving Grace” by Peter Andrew Smith
“God’s Light Without A Sun” by David O. Bales
“Remember Your Baptism” by David O. Bales
Receiving Grace
by Peter Andrew Smith
Mark 1:4-11
Dave stood on the beach on Sunday morning where the congregation was gathering for worship and prayed softly to himself.
“Lord, you know that I haven’t always been a good person. I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve done many things that I’m ashamed of. I’ve been a terrible father to Terry and avoided my responsibilities to his mother.” Dave wiped at his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the life that I’ve lived, and I want to change, I want to be a better person, for you, for them and for me, too.”
Dave took a deep breath. “I’ve started going to meetings. I’m holding down a steady job and I’ve cleaned up my life. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been trying. I’m trying but I don’t know if I can keep going. There are temptations everywhere and honestly sometimes I find it just so hard to get through the day and do what is right. Help me, I pray. Help me to be the person I should be. Amen.”
The pastor started the service and Dave joined with the prayers, he listened to the soloist sing of God’s grace, and he hung on every word of the reading about John baptizing people. As they got closer to the time for the baptisms that morning, he came forward with the others. He nodded to them and looked at their faces. Joanie was beaming and seemed so happy to be baptized. Luke shuffled toward the water and even he seemed excited. Sadie stumbled as she made her way on the sand and Dave was amazed at the elderly woman’s determination to come to the front to make her vows.
Standing in front of the pastor, Dave felt exposed and a fraud. He didn’t belong with Joanie so young and innocent, with Luke who volunteered at the food bank, or with Sadie whose faith was so rock solid and sure. He was racked with doubt and uncertainty. Dave wondered how God could ever accept him given the mess he had made in his life.
The pastor asked him if he believed in God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit and that was easy. Of course, Dave believed. He knew God made everything, that Jesus died on the cross for sinners, and that the Holy Spirit blessed the faithful. So, the words easily left his mouth.
Then the pastor asked if he renounced the power of evil and turned away from sin and toward God. Again, that was easy for Dave to answer. He knew that path was nothing but heartache and ruin, so the words came from his mouth without hesitation.
The pastor asked if he would be faithful in joining with the congregation in being the people of God, in reading the Bible, and in growing in faith. Dave had no problem with those words either because he found coming to church helped him in the week and he knew the great things that the people in the congregation were doing. He had the Bible the pastor gave him when he started coming to church and he read it every day and he prayed as well. So, he answered with no problem.
Everyone started moving toward the water and Dave watched and waited. Joanie was first and when she came back up out of the water everyone cheered and she waved. She looked so happy. Luke sputtered and wiped his face but even he grinned as the congregation cheered for him. Sadie held her nose and everyone laughed as she went down under the water and came up again. She looked so peaceful and content. The pastor motioned for Dave to come forward and he found it hard to move forward. He wasn’t a good person like the others, he wasn’t worthy of everything the pastor spoke about.
“Just relax, Dave, I’ve got you.” the pastor said as he gently put Dave under the water.
Dave felt the coolness wash over him and as he came back out of the water and heard the cheers he felt at peace. He knew in that moment that God not only forgave him for his sins but welcomed him home. He understood that Jesus not only died for him, but loved him deeply and completely. He realized that the Holy Spirit was not merely for other people but was also for him. Dave wept openly as he waded back to the shore. For Dave realized that he was not merely a new person, he was one of God’s people through God’s love and God’s grace.
* * *
God’s Light Without A Sun
by David O. Bales
Genesis 1:1-5
“Don’t you see?” Lonnie scowled and held her hand toward the rest of the senior high youth group. “There was light before there was even a sun.”
Reverend Esther grinned. She’d been recruited out of retirement to teach Bible for the senior high youth. She was more and more liking this “resident skeptic” as the youth group leader called Lonnie.
Lonnie’s statement prompted the rest of the group to turn to Charles, the crew-cut football player who always felt called upon to defend God—as he conceived God to be—and noted by his expression that Lonnie’s comment upset him. The group waited for him to respond. While he flexed a shoulder, as he did immediately before making a speech defending God, Reverend Esther spoke, “Right. Precisely, and you notice that because you’re a modern person. Now, consider this: 3,400 years ago, no one would have blinked at the idea.”
Charles gave an uncertain smile, which allowed Reverend Esther to continue without needing to step in as umpire between an instinctive skeptic and a true believer. Esther was thrilled to meet with students who were so quick to shout their opinions, be those opinions ever so slightly supported. She thought Lonnie was a jewel: forced to attend the youth group by her parents and bringing worked-up religious rebellion with her. Although the other students didn’t realize it, they benefited by hearing discussion from opposite ends of faith. With Charles always supporting faith, this group was a microcosm of the church.
“The reason ancient people didn’t hesitate a blink about the light before the sun is because they weren’t scientifically trained citizens of a post-industrial society. You’ve stumbled into why light arrived before the sun.”
Lonnie appeared unconvinced, but she listened to Esther, so did Charles. Then Lonnie said, “So why the sun at all?” A question which didn’t draw an answer from anyone.
“Let me lift the view higher,” Esther said. “The problem of sun or no-sun or the sequence of light-to-sun is irrelevant. Ancient people responded to poetry. That tells us something about God and the Bible. God communicates with us in a manner we can understand. God informed the ancient Hebrews about creation in a way that all ancient people reasoned about the most important things: poetry. Genesis chapter 1 is a massive poem, which, by the way, outdid the creation poems of other ancient people. When our ancestors in the faith heard the creation story they didn’t go home saying, ‘Wow, I’m really glad I learned that the earth orbits the sun.”
Charles was catching on that Esther might not be defending God the way he expected. He made a little grunt that meant he was trying to come up with a suitable response.
Esther gazed around the group face by face, “Think about those ancient Hebrews. Almost no one could read or write. They were internet deprived.” That got a laugh. “Step back into a gathering of the faithful as the priests chanted Genesis chapter 1. What did they learn? The big bang theory?”
No one answered.
Lonnie, putting skeptical force in her voice said, “Well, what?”
“They realized they were included in this grand scheme created by God. The chapter’s listing of creation’s order and the repetitions of God’s work weren’t arranged to help believers dredge scientific data from the poem. Instead, the listeners were surrounded by it. Penetrated by it. All occurring by means of a poem like an ancient song. That chanting of creation’s unfolding taught them that God made them and all else. The order wasn’t most important to them. Their realization of their place in God’s world was.”
Esther leaned toward the students and nodded to Lonnie on her right and to Charles on her left. “It still happens. I’ve seen it. Not exactly the same way.” She perceived that the group was willing to listen to her for a while.
“My final year of seminary was as an intern in a large congregation. That church took a daring step in ministry. They supported a Christian custodial service that hired newly released prisoners. The business aimed to rehabilitate people into society. All staff were Christians and all employees had to attend therapy groups. Still, many church members felt it was a risky step.
“My ministry as seminary intern was with youth—you people’s age, although I was only a few years older—and anything that had to do with education. That meant by some twisted reasoning, I became the liaison with the custodial company. The supervisor was Della, about my age. We hit it off, which helped, because we had several problems to iron out with their workers. We ended up snooping around more to make sure they weren’t stealing than if they worked well. Sometimes we swished in after a cleaner and finished the job. Even at the time we weren’t sure we aided the workers in becoming responsible.
“One evening at the church after I’d worked late, I heard the janitorial crew arriving and rustling around in their assigned areas. Della dashed into my office, ‘Here, here, come, come.’ She motioned for me to follow quickly. She led me up the stairs to the sanctuary’s balcony, whispered a young man’s name, and said she’d finally gotten onto him. I thought she meant she’d been following him and caught him stealing. Yet she was smiling and shushing me, creeping tiptoe to the balcony. ‘Every night, now,’ she said. ‘Brendan.’ I knew Brendan. He’d been with them four months and had an attitude. But the company people gathered around to teach, support, and pray for him. Pretty difficult to get someone to drop their identity as a gang member and live within God’s grace. One day he’d work hard, the next he’d loaf. One day he’d be agreeable, the next a nuisance to anyone nearby.
“We stopped at the balcony’s side. Della pointed in the dark toward the pulpit. Its reading light clicked on. The speaker system popped on. The switch was in the pulpit along with switches for all the sanctuary lights.
“‘In the beginning.’ It was Brendan’s voice on the speaker. One sanctuary light came on. ‘God created the heavens and the earth’ and a second sanctuary light switched on. ‘The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep,’ a third sanctuary light lit up, ‘while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.’ A fourth light popped on. Brendan continued to read, ‘Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light,’ at which he flipped on the last four banks of lights. Moments before the sanctuary was only darkness and now ablaze with light. ‘And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness he called night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.’ The speaker buzzed off.
“We peeked around and glimpsed Brendan walk slowly, almost reverently, from the pulpit. He grabbed his vacuum sweeper, switched it on, and began work. ‘He’s getting there,’ Della said. ‘No kidding,’ I said.
“Right there Brendan demonstrated not that he was beginning to understand a heliocentric universe but realizing that he was God’s beloved creation. No sun, but God’s light radiated all around him. He was getting there. By entering a poem, get it?” she said.
Lonnie tilted her head to the side with a slight positive gesture. Charles said, “Well ….”
Preaching point: God’s light penetrating different kinds of worlds.
* * *
Remember Your Baptism
by David O. Bales
Psalm 29
The evening’s servers had cleared the potluck dishes and were setting out the desserts. The Conquerors, the church’s older church members, had left the dinner tables and were seated in rows. Linnea raised her voice over the last clinging of plates and bowls. “Our first day in Israel we were told the Arab proverb, ‘Never trust a pilgrim’s tale.’ So, you can choose to trust us or not.” She got a laugh from the group. “For those who haven’t met her yet, this is my sister Margo,” she said, pointing to Margo in the front row who turned around and said, “I’ve never decided if I trust her.” That got a bigger laugh.
“We left the U.S. in a dash. Two days after, Margo finally retired. We landed back home three nights ago. Pastor Mel had set me up to relate our journey soon before the glow wore off.”
Pastor Mel in the front with Margo waved, “We’re expecting an inspiring report.”
Linnea nodded knowingly to Margo, “The glow has washed off, but the disorientation hasn’t. Only seven days ago we were ten time zones away, on the other side of the world, standing by the Jordan River. It seems like an eternity ago. Psychologically for me, distance equals time. If we’re this far away from where we were, it should be later in the month.” She swished her hand in front of her face to dismiss the thought.
“We were shuttled around Israel in a Mercedes bus, large as a railroad boxcar and ultra- luxurious, restrooms no less. In my mind, our driver was always accelerating too fast, cutting corners too short and braking too hard. I stopped looking at the road ahead. Tourist busses, dozens of them, line up outside every Christian shrine like a string of square-nosed mechanical elephants, nose to tail at the circus. You’d think tourism entirely funds Israel’s national budget.
Very little courtesy was exchanged between the different tour bus companies. Each bus raced to disgorge its cargo before the next. Busses never yielded. At one sharp corner in Jerusalem, our bus met another and neither driver would retract his mirror. Their mirrors locked and the drivers had their heads out the windows yelling at one another, honking heard from Damascus to Cairo, and took a minute before each bus reversed a bit and both drivers pulled in their mirror to pass.
“I suppose our tour was the usual. Neither of us had been on a tour before, except of the state fairgrounds. Back and forth, we zipped between sites. One man wanted to see where all the biblical battles were fought, and one woman wanted to see where Jesus handed candy to the children. We viewed mostly ancient sights—Old Testament, New Testament, and early Christian. As country girls, we enjoyed the orchards of lemons and oranges, olives and figs, bananas -- but no coconuts. One of the modern points we visited was the National Water Carrier—huge system of canals, pumps, reservoirs and tunnels to transfer water from north to south. The guide said, ‘When it storms like you hear in Psalm 29, this is where the water goes.’
“Our guide resembled a carnival barker. The first morning he balanced up front in the aisle, pinned on his microphone, and said, ‘Have we got a tour for you!’ Then, the bus jerked ahead, and he grabbed the pole by the door, nonchalantly trying to disguise his posture of holding on for dear life. Every day, he swept our view toward the landscape as if it were paradise renewed. He seemed incapable of speaking without waving, which often put him in jeopardy as he forgot to grasp his pole. He always spoke of the ‘Holy Land,’ as if Israel’s map had been renamed.
“Nora, our travel agent, had sold this tour to others and said her customers were pleased. They agreed with the brochure promising a central event at the Jordan River where people heard about John the Baptist and Jesus and where they could be re-baptized. At the Jordan, a week ago today—far away but not long ago—we noticed the driver and the guide were on their cell phones. People were out in the Jordan repeating this most important event in their religious life and these two stood on the bank chatting on their phones. More than half of us chose not to be re-baptized, but we all responded to the pastor’s call to join in prayer to remember our baptism, which was quite meaningful, didn’t you think Margo?”
“Yeah. Afterwards, I kind of regretted I didn’t wade in the water also.”
“Well,” Linnea said, “You’d soon have another chance.” Margo chuckled and nodded. Linnea said, “Remember the Arab proverb? Well, we soon experienced that the baptism episode wasn’t over.” She gave a wry smile. “Margo, you want to say anything?”
“No, no. You’re doing fine.”
“Okay, we’d only driven an hour when the guide disclosed why he was on his cell. He was contacting other busses scattered around Israel, which is not, by the way, very large. In the western U.S., we have counties almost as large. The other busses reported where rain was hitting so the tours could divert to dry sights. The upshot was we didn’t find one. The rain found us.
“The guide was bending down and looking forward and soon we all were struggling to glimpse what we were driving into. Looked as though we approached a black wall. The guide spoke, ‘Remember Psalm 29, the storm, the glory of the Lord: Here it comes!’
“We drove into a cloudburst. Worst I’ve seen. The wadis on the right of the bus were instantly full of water rushing down. Little grass to slow the stream, only a few bushes. In no time the culverts spilled across the road. The guide stretched an arm towards us and spoke nervously, ‘Too bad we can’t save this for the National Water Carrier. Heh heh. This will help you remember your baptism. Heh heh.’ Then the bus slowed, and he turned back to his tense position, bent slightly to look forward.
“Margo and I were raised on the Washington coast with flash floods. Washington’s foothills have a lot more vegetation than Israel’s. As this flood crested the road, I wasn’t worried because for sure there wouldn’t be any logs floating across.
“The guide also didn’t seem worried, even when the driver halted the bus in front of a broad gusher across the pavement. Margo and I sat near the front. From there the huge windshield seemed like a movie screen with the driver and guide in profile. Believe me, all eyes were on that screen. The guide turned again to us, ‘We have these rains sometimes; but this might be a hundred-year flood.’ Margo said to me, ‘Or a 4000-year flood’ and we laughed, laughter which stopped quickly.
“The guide had left his microphone on and argued with the driver. We saw them sideways, haggling in Hebrew. The guide gesturing forward, urging the driver on. The driver, a man who’d proved his ability to argue, disagreeing. Yet, in a minute, the guide stepped over to him and pointed like a general to a private. The driver clenched his teeth but settled onto his seat and drove forward into the water. That’s when we looked at the flood and saw no logs, but brush had clumped together and was now rushing toward us in a mass large as a house. Hit the front of the bus. People screamed loud enough to pulverize the walls of Jericho.
“When Margo and I were kids, our family had relatives for dinner. Can’t remember the occasion. I was about ten, which made Margo eight. When it was time for the roast to come to the table, surrounded by potatoes, carrots and onions on a giant platter, Mom had me deliver it. Did fine until I leaned over to place it down, at which it tipped, and I watched in slow motion as gravity slid it onto the fruit salad and Uncle Jim’s lap.
“That’s what I thought of in the instant after this raft of brush smashed into the front of the bus. The front shifted left and dropped down a yard over the road’s edge, pivoting like the rear was a hinge, and gravity began moving the contents of the bus, us tourists, slowly forward.”
Linnea paused. “We were there for half an hour until the water subsided and we got out and walked up the muddy asphalt fifty yards to wait for another bus. The tour’s promise of the Jordan’s baptism as a central event proved accurate. When we stood around with our fellow tourists in the excited chattering that followed, we all agreed that one way or the other during the day, we’d all very seriously recalled our baptism.
“That’s all I have to say,” she said, flinging her hands out to her side. She turned to Pastor Mel, smiling. The Conquerors clapped and Pastor Mel stood, “I expected inspiration and we also heard of adventure. Wonderful. Thank you.”
Linnea said, “Any questions?” And without pausing, continued, “Ask Margo. Time for her to sing for her supper. I’m going to have my dessert now.”
Preaching point: Danger leads our thoughts to God’s promise to us in baptism.
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StoryShare, January 10, 2021 issue.
Copyright 2021 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.
