The Return
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Return" by Keith Hewitt
"Shining in the Darkness" by Peter Andrew Smith
* * * * * * *
The Return
by Keith Hewitt
Jeremiah 31:7-14
"I am third generation," Benjamin said, as his party stood on a windswept plain, staring toward the city. The sun was bright, but the air was cold, and the strong, steady wind made it colder. Funny, he thought, I always pictured this place much warmer. It was, he supposed, the inevitable effect of stories passed down over generations, of times and places dimly remembered. Wars and famine, rebellion and social collapse there may have been, but the homeland was still the homeland, and it was still warmer, sweeter, and more hospitable than any other land.
He looked to his right, at the younger man standing beside him, and asked quietly, "And you?"
"Fourth generation," the man admitted. "My great grandparents were among the first to be sent away from home. It was after the war, and they were viewed as a threat..." The man shrugged. "You know how it is." His eyes narrowed as he studied the land before them. This was the first intact city they had seen since crossing the border... some had fallen into ruin, others were just deserted, the people forced out and deported, or just forced into smaller towns that were too small to sustain rebellion, too weak to matter.
After the first few, they skirted the rest -- they knew where they were going, where they wanted to be... where they were being called to be.
"This is nothing like what I expected," the man said finally.
"I know," Benjamin agreed. He turned to his left. "You must be at least second generation," he guessed, studying the elderly man -- David, his name was. He had joined them shortly after the group formed back there in a foreign land that had suddenly become unwelcome.
"I am first generation," David admitted reluctantly, his voice dulled by age. "I left here almost eighty years ago, as a child. After the war, with our army destroyed and people in rebellion... so much of the land could not be used, anymore, and things were just so bad... so very, very bad... there were so many of us that they felt couldn't be trusted..." He trailed off.
"But how could that happen?" the second man asked. "I've asked my grandparents, and they couldn't tell me. If you were there, you must know. How could that happen, that so many of us could be scattered to the winds?"
"You heard the man," Benjamin said, "it was the war and the aftermath."
"Those were just the symptoms," the old man answered. "They were convenient excused to allow the unthinkable. My people -- and yours, I'm sure -- had been here for many, many generations. This land was ours, as much as it was anyone's. But we let it slip away... us, and the rest of the people here."
"What do you mean?" the man asked.
"I mean we turned our back on our principles. Once upon a time, we were a God-fearing people, and we served the Lord even as we trusted in him to stand by us. We believed in doing what was required of us, in living lives of dignity, and in doing the right thing, even if it cost us our comfort. We weren't perfect, but we listened to God... for the most part." As he spoke, his voice took on depth and power, even as his eyes began to leak tears that trickled down his lined, weary face.
"And the war?" Benjamin insisted.
"The war shattered us, I suppose, but we had been broken long before. As a people -- God's people, we liked to think of ourselves -- as God's people, we knew what we should be doing... but we didn't do it," David said softly, his eyes losing their focus as they looked back through time. "We learned the hard lesson that when you didn't stand for anything, it was that much easier to be knocked off your feet. The war killed our rulers, left us defenseless... economic collapse followed, and then rebellion as people feared for their future. Eventually, people like us, we were forced to leave... and even then, the remains of our nation deteriorated even further. It became a ghost of itself."
"Then why are we here, after all this time?" the second man asked. "What are we supposed to make of this?" He swept a hand toward the far city. Here and there a light shone.
"They've sent word to the exiles, invited us to return, because they discovered a truth... an unintended truth," David said, straightening up a little beneath the burden on his shoulders -- not just the pack that represented his worldly possessions, but also the truth he carried, Benjamin thought as he studied the old, sturdy refugee. "When you remove the heart and soul of a nation, all that is left is a corpse. They need us to make this land prosper again. And that means we have a chance to try again... to do things right, this time."
"And will we?" Benjamin asked.
The old man shrugged. "We can preach, we can exhort, and we can live the lives we know we should live. Whether others will follow us and make this a whole nation again... a great nation again... that is up to them. But those of us who come back can teach them, and who knows? Maybe something miraculous will happen."
They stood in silence for a few moments before Benjamin turned to walk back and get the others in their party on their feet, ready to walk again, into the teeth of the wind. It would take a minute or two to get everyone moving. As they waited, the second man pointed to one particular tower, tall among the others, and asked, "What is that, David? Do you remember?"
David nodded, not admitting that he summoned the memories of his parents, for what could a two-year-old have remembered? "It's called the Sears Tower. It used to be the tallest building in the land..."
And as they waited, he spun tales of a flawed land and a wayward people, in hopes that, with God's help, they might somehow rise again... straight and true.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
Shining in the Darkness
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
The buzzer sounded and the guard let Tom through. He said thanks as he always did and pushed the cart full of books down the cell block until he reached the first open door.
"I have a book you might like," Tom said.
Johnny B looked up from his bunk. "Is it the next one in that series I'm reading?"
Tom shook his head. "We're still waiting for that one to arrive but this is by the same author and it's a western too."
Johnny B shrugged and took the book. Pete stuck his head out of his cell as the cart came past.
"You got any spy novels I haven't read, Tom?"
"Sure." Tom stopped pushing and checked his list. "Are you finished the last one you borrowed?"
"Not yet."
"You know the rules Pete, you return the book I give you a new one."
Pete frowned. "That's not fair, Tom."
Tom shrugged his shoulders. "That's what the warden says we have to do in order to keep getting books."
Pete stepped in front of the cart and clenched his fists. "What's to stop me from just taking another book? You gonna to stop me?"
Tom stepped away. "If you do you'll be ruining it for everyone."
"Who is gonna know?" Pete said grabbing hold of some books.
A low growl sounded in the hallway and they looked up to see a huge prisoner standing behind them. Pete put his hands in the air and backed up. Tom paled at the sight of the giant of a man filling the corridor. Isaiah rarely interacted with anyone but when he did it meant trouble for the unlucky convict. Isaiah gestured for him to follow. Tom swallowed his fear and his mind raced as he tried to think of what he might have done to annoy or draw the attention of the feared prisoner.
"Did you want a book to read, Isaiah?"
Isaiah tilted his head to one side. "You go to church on Wednesday when the pastor was preaching?"
"I did. I think pretty much the whole block other than Pete was there," Tom said. "Not much else to do and it is nice to hear the choir who comes to sing."
"They do sing nice." Isaiah looked down the hall and then back at Tom. "You think the story he told was true?"
"You mean about wanting to play football when he was younger?" Tom thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that was true. I mean why else would he tell it?"
"I wanted to play football when I was a boy." Isaiah flexed his muscles. "Always thought I would be good at it."
Tom nodded. "I think you would have too."
"You think the other story he told was true?"
Tom racked his brain and couldn't remember anything else the preacher had said. He took a deep breath. "Which other story?"
"Were you not paying attention?" Isaiah's eyes narrowed.
Sweat started to run down Tom's neck and his heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out. He really hadn't paid much attention to what the preacher said. He never had much time for religion and only started going to services in prison because it was better than being bored.
"I can remember him telling about wanting to play football but he blew his knee out in school and figured that his life was over. That is when he started getting into trouble and ended up in prison." As the words passed through his lips Tom realized he had paid more attention than he thought. "In his cell he read in the Bible about Jesus being the light that would not go out. He became a preacher and spends time in prisons speaking to convicts like us."
"Yeah," Isaiah said. "You think it is true?"
"I figure it must be. Preachers are supposed to tell the truth." Tom wiped his brow. "Besides I can't imagine why someone would lie about being a convict."
"That's what I thought too." Isaiah pointed at the cart of books. "So you have one there?"
"One what?" Tom asked.
"The book that the preacher read."
"Yes, there is a Bible." Tom pulled out a well worn book. "It is an old one though. I think if I asked I might be able to find you one in better condition."
"Does it talk about Jesus?"
Tom nodded.
"Then that is the book I want. If the pages are wrinkled that means that someone has read it carefully doesn't it?" Isaiah took the Bible and walked back into his cell.
Tom let out his breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He pushed the cart toward the locked door and waited for the guard to buzz him through. He couldn't help but wish he had paid closer attention at the church service on Wednesday and heard the words that had reached someone as hardened as Isaiah.
The buzzer sounded and as he went through the door Tom decided then and there that when the Bible came back to the cart he was going to take time to read it. As he continued to deliver books he felt something he had not felt in a long time. For Tom, a man who had believed there was nothing left for him in life, began to hope there might be more because of Jesus Christ.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 5, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 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.
"The Return" by Keith Hewitt
"Shining in the Darkness" by Peter Andrew Smith
* * * * * * *
The Return
by Keith Hewitt
Jeremiah 31:7-14
"I am third generation," Benjamin said, as his party stood on a windswept plain, staring toward the city. The sun was bright, but the air was cold, and the strong, steady wind made it colder. Funny, he thought, I always pictured this place much warmer. It was, he supposed, the inevitable effect of stories passed down over generations, of times and places dimly remembered. Wars and famine, rebellion and social collapse there may have been, but the homeland was still the homeland, and it was still warmer, sweeter, and more hospitable than any other land.
He looked to his right, at the younger man standing beside him, and asked quietly, "And you?"
"Fourth generation," the man admitted. "My great grandparents were among the first to be sent away from home. It was after the war, and they were viewed as a threat..." The man shrugged. "You know how it is." His eyes narrowed as he studied the land before them. This was the first intact city they had seen since crossing the border... some had fallen into ruin, others were just deserted, the people forced out and deported, or just forced into smaller towns that were too small to sustain rebellion, too weak to matter.
After the first few, they skirted the rest -- they knew where they were going, where they wanted to be... where they were being called to be.
"This is nothing like what I expected," the man said finally.
"I know," Benjamin agreed. He turned to his left. "You must be at least second generation," he guessed, studying the elderly man -- David, his name was. He had joined them shortly after the group formed back there in a foreign land that had suddenly become unwelcome.
"I am first generation," David admitted reluctantly, his voice dulled by age. "I left here almost eighty years ago, as a child. After the war, with our army destroyed and people in rebellion... so much of the land could not be used, anymore, and things were just so bad... so very, very bad... there were so many of us that they felt couldn't be trusted..." He trailed off.
"But how could that happen?" the second man asked. "I've asked my grandparents, and they couldn't tell me. If you were there, you must know. How could that happen, that so many of us could be scattered to the winds?"
"You heard the man," Benjamin said, "it was the war and the aftermath."
"Those were just the symptoms," the old man answered. "They were convenient excused to allow the unthinkable. My people -- and yours, I'm sure -- had been here for many, many generations. This land was ours, as much as it was anyone's. But we let it slip away... us, and the rest of the people here."
"What do you mean?" the man asked.
"I mean we turned our back on our principles. Once upon a time, we were a God-fearing people, and we served the Lord even as we trusted in him to stand by us. We believed in doing what was required of us, in living lives of dignity, and in doing the right thing, even if it cost us our comfort. We weren't perfect, but we listened to God... for the most part." As he spoke, his voice took on depth and power, even as his eyes began to leak tears that trickled down his lined, weary face.
"And the war?" Benjamin insisted.
"The war shattered us, I suppose, but we had been broken long before. As a people -- God's people, we liked to think of ourselves -- as God's people, we knew what we should be doing... but we didn't do it," David said softly, his eyes losing their focus as they looked back through time. "We learned the hard lesson that when you didn't stand for anything, it was that much easier to be knocked off your feet. The war killed our rulers, left us defenseless... economic collapse followed, and then rebellion as people feared for their future. Eventually, people like us, we were forced to leave... and even then, the remains of our nation deteriorated even further. It became a ghost of itself."
"Then why are we here, after all this time?" the second man asked. "What are we supposed to make of this?" He swept a hand toward the far city. Here and there a light shone.
"They've sent word to the exiles, invited us to return, because they discovered a truth... an unintended truth," David said, straightening up a little beneath the burden on his shoulders -- not just the pack that represented his worldly possessions, but also the truth he carried, Benjamin thought as he studied the old, sturdy refugee. "When you remove the heart and soul of a nation, all that is left is a corpse. They need us to make this land prosper again. And that means we have a chance to try again... to do things right, this time."
"And will we?" Benjamin asked.
The old man shrugged. "We can preach, we can exhort, and we can live the lives we know we should live. Whether others will follow us and make this a whole nation again... a great nation again... that is up to them. But those of us who come back can teach them, and who knows? Maybe something miraculous will happen."
They stood in silence for a few moments before Benjamin turned to walk back and get the others in their party on their feet, ready to walk again, into the teeth of the wind. It would take a minute or two to get everyone moving. As they waited, the second man pointed to one particular tower, tall among the others, and asked, "What is that, David? Do you remember?"
David nodded, not admitting that he summoned the memories of his parents, for what could a two-year-old have remembered? "It's called the Sears Tower. It used to be the tallest building in the land..."
And as they waited, he spun tales of a flawed land and a wayward people, in hopes that, with God's help, they might somehow rise again... straight and true.
Keith Hewitt is the author of three volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, former youth leader and Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He is currently serving as the pastor at Parkview UMC in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin. Keith is married to a teacher, and they have two children and assorted dogs and cats.
Shining in the Darkness
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
The buzzer sounded and the guard let Tom through. He said thanks as he always did and pushed the cart full of books down the cell block until he reached the first open door.
"I have a book you might like," Tom said.
Johnny B looked up from his bunk. "Is it the next one in that series I'm reading?"
Tom shook his head. "We're still waiting for that one to arrive but this is by the same author and it's a western too."
Johnny B shrugged and took the book. Pete stuck his head out of his cell as the cart came past.
"You got any spy novels I haven't read, Tom?"
"Sure." Tom stopped pushing and checked his list. "Are you finished the last one you borrowed?"
"Not yet."
"You know the rules Pete, you return the book I give you a new one."
Pete frowned. "That's not fair, Tom."
Tom shrugged his shoulders. "That's what the warden says we have to do in order to keep getting books."
Pete stepped in front of the cart and clenched his fists. "What's to stop me from just taking another book? You gonna to stop me?"
Tom stepped away. "If you do you'll be ruining it for everyone."
"Who is gonna know?" Pete said grabbing hold of some books.
A low growl sounded in the hallway and they looked up to see a huge prisoner standing behind them. Pete put his hands in the air and backed up. Tom paled at the sight of the giant of a man filling the corridor. Isaiah rarely interacted with anyone but when he did it meant trouble for the unlucky convict. Isaiah gestured for him to follow. Tom swallowed his fear and his mind raced as he tried to think of what he might have done to annoy or draw the attention of the feared prisoner.
"Did you want a book to read, Isaiah?"
Isaiah tilted his head to one side. "You go to church on Wednesday when the pastor was preaching?"
"I did. I think pretty much the whole block other than Pete was there," Tom said. "Not much else to do and it is nice to hear the choir who comes to sing."
"They do sing nice." Isaiah looked down the hall and then back at Tom. "You think the story he told was true?"
"You mean about wanting to play football when he was younger?" Tom thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess that was true. I mean why else would he tell it?"
"I wanted to play football when I was a boy." Isaiah flexed his muscles. "Always thought I would be good at it."
Tom nodded. "I think you would have too."
"You think the other story he told was true?"
Tom racked his brain and couldn't remember anything else the preacher had said. He took a deep breath. "Which other story?"
"Were you not paying attention?" Isaiah's eyes narrowed.
Sweat started to run down Tom's neck and his heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out. He really hadn't paid much attention to what the preacher said. He never had much time for religion and only started going to services in prison because it was better than being bored.
"I can remember him telling about wanting to play football but he blew his knee out in school and figured that his life was over. That is when he started getting into trouble and ended up in prison." As the words passed through his lips Tom realized he had paid more attention than he thought. "In his cell he read in the Bible about Jesus being the light that would not go out. He became a preacher and spends time in prisons speaking to convicts like us."
"Yeah," Isaiah said. "You think it is true?"
"I figure it must be. Preachers are supposed to tell the truth." Tom wiped his brow. "Besides I can't imagine why someone would lie about being a convict."
"That's what I thought too." Isaiah pointed at the cart of books. "So you have one there?"
"One what?" Tom asked.
"The book that the preacher read."
"Yes, there is a Bible." Tom pulled out a well worn book. "It is an old one though. I think if I asked I might be able to find you one in better condition."
"Does it talk about Jesus?"
Tom nodded.
"Then that is the book I want. If the pages are wrinkled that means that someone has read it carefully doesn't it?" Isaiah took the Bible and walked back into his cell.
Tom let out his breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He pushed the cart toward the locked door and waited for the guard to buzz him through. He couldn't help but wish he had paid closer attention at the church service on Wednesday and heard the words that had reached someone as hardened as Isaiah.
The buzzer sounded and as he went through the door Tom decided then and there that when the Bible came back to the cart he was going to take time to read it. As he continued to deliver books he felt something he had not felt in a long time. For Tom, a man who had believed there was nothing left for him in life, began to hope there might be more because of Jesus Christ.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 5, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 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.
