Rock-Like Living
Stories
Contents
"Rock-Like Living" by Keith Wagner
"Celebrating Our Gifts" by Keith Wagner
"Hannah's Story" by Keith Hewitt
Rock-Like Living
by Keith Wagner
Matthew 16:13-20
Jesus said to Peter, "You are Peter, the Rock; and on this rock I will build my church." What does it mean for the Church to be a rock? I believe he was talking about life, specifically how one enters the kingdom of heaven.
I believe that to build our lives on solid ground is to be committed to helping others. Commitment to the faith requires sharing our resources, remaining steadfast and believing anything is possible.
I was vacationing in the Chesapeake Bay this summer and in that area there are thousands of people who commute to Washington D.C. every day. Some commute over two hours away. I noticed that there were a number of “Park and Ride” areas. Folks drive to a central location, park their car and then ride a bus to work for the remainder of their commute. Here in the midwest we are used to driving to work solo. Ride sharing is scarce and we have no mass transit systems. Think of the resources that could be saved if we shared what we have.
To live our lives like the rock is to believe that anything is possible. Too often we feel as though our efforts go unnoticed so we don’t even try. Or, we sense that a wrong can’t be righted or a problem can’t be solved and we become overwhelmed.
In the Chesapeake I do a lot of sailing. One year I was sailing with some very good friends. Our boat captain that year was the most experienced of all of us. We were heading out to the Chesapeake Bay from a channel that was narrow and shallow. The wind was strong and the seas were choppy. We drifted to the left and our sailboat went aground. Our captain panicked, which is unusual for him. We backed off and he decided that we better go back in. We motored back to the dock and sat there. Now we were in a marina where hundreds of boats, many larger than ours, were docked. I thought to myself, “These boats navigate this channel every day. Surely, it is not impossible for us.”
I said to my friend who was overwhelmed with the situation that I had every confidence in his ability to take us out of the channel. I also suggested that he might stay to the right to avoid drift. Drift was something I was familiar with having served in the Navy. After a 30 minute waiting period we headed out again and this time we safely navigated our way through the channel. Anything is possible.
One of the places in the Chesapeake we always sail to is St. Michael’s, Maryland. At the center of town is Christ Church. It is one of the oldest churches in the US, founded in 1672. For almost four centuries Christ Church has remained an integral part of the community. The church is stone, literally a rock on the Eastern shore of Maryland. One of the reasons they continue to be a rock is due to their many outreach programs such as: operating a food pantry, supplying school children with supplies and building homes. In 2017 Christ Church committed to building seven new homes in St. Michael’s for people who couldn’t otherwise afford a home. Their mission statement reads, “We are a vibrant faith community grounded in history and open to the future. We are inclusive, caring, active and engaged in proclaiming the good news of Christ to all God’s people.”
* * *
Celebrating Our Gifts
by Keith Wagner
Romans 12:1-8
When I began my ministry I served three small churches in the country. I had always lived in larger cities so the experience was a real culture shock. The worship services were at 9, 10 and 11 AM respectively. In between each church I drove about 10 miles. The first church was the smallest, only about 15 people. On my very first Sunday I was getting ready to leave but my car was out of gas. We were 20 miles from the nearest gas station. One man in the church immediately went to the back of his car and brought a 5-gallon gas container and put gas in my tank. He said, “After living in the country all your life you learn to carry gas with you.”
I shall never forget his kindness. He was also the man who went to the church early on Sunday mornings to stoke up the furnace. The folks at that small country church were the most loving and humble folks I had ever met. They loved their little church but most importantly they loved each other. Although they were small in numbers their ministry of compassion was great.
Here we find Paul reminding the church that everyone is different but all are important. He said there is a variety of "spiritual gifts" or talents but all are inspired by the same God. None is better than any of the others. We may not fully understand nor do we always agree of the ways that others live out their faith. But, that doesn’t mean that they are not inspired by God.
When Paul wrote this letter he was writing to those who were feeling excluded or unimportant. He was also giving encouragement to those who had gifts but were reluctant to use them. Preaching is a gift, but then so is putting gas in the preacher’s empty tank.
What did Paul mean by saying “we are one body with many members?” I believe he meant the love ethic, “to love one another and our neighbors as ourselves.” We love by helping, giving, teaching, nurturing, listening, building relationships or just being with.
In his book, Home Fires, Charles L. Allen, tells the story about a man who wanted to ask his boss for a raise. He told his wife of his intentions that morning. He went to work but he was nervous. Toward the end of the day he finally got up enough courage to ask. To his surprise, his boss gave him a larger increase than he had anticipated. He also praised him for the great job he was doing. The man was elated and when he arrived home he found the dining room table set with the best china. Candles were burning and his favorite dinner was waiting for him. He thought, “Someone must have called his wife and told her the news.” He went into the kitchen and told his wife the good news and they embraced.
A little later he sat down at the dinner table and found a note that read; “Congratulations, darling, I knew you would get the raise. This dinner will tell you how much I love you.” The dinner was wonderful. When his wife got up to take away the plates and get the dessert, he noticed another card stuck to the bottom of her plate. It fell to the floor as she went into the kitchen. He retrieved it and read these words; “Don’t worry about not getting the raise, my dear, even though you deserved it. This dinner will tell you how much I love you.”
The woman loved her husband regardless of the outcome. She, like the man who put gas in my tank, was prepared to show him how much she cared.
Paul was also saying that as a congregation they were dependent on one another. Paul wanted the Church to understand that their individual talents meant nothing unless they benefitted the whole community. When a church, or any group of people for that matter, works together for the common good, great things can happen. Every believer has some gift to offer. We are not in competition and no one’s gift is greater than another.
The emperor penguins of Antarctica know the importance of teamwork. They huddle together by the thousands, providing enough warmth to survive the brutal, freezing weather. They take turns monitoring the outside of their giant huddle, on the lookout for danger or food. After one of the penguins finishes “perimeter duty” it moves to the inside of the group where it can rest and keep warm. The penguins could not survive if they didn’t rotate and take turns keeping each other warm. Every penguin contributes to the whole group. No one is less important than any other.
We can learn from the penguins. Teamwork enables us to survive. The more difficult the conditions the more important it is for us to band together. Maybe we don’t need to share warmth, but we might need to share our vision, our ideas and our encouragement.
* * *
Hannah's Story
by Keith Hewitt
Exodus 1:8--2:10
“What did you do, Hannah?”
The question, shaped like an accusation but without the energy or passion to give it that edge, came out of the darkness as soon as Hannah closed the door behind her -- softly, she thought, so as to wake no one up. She considered her options, and shrugged in the darkness. “Nothing, Mother.”
“Where were you?”
“Does it matter?”
There was a scratching noise from the darkness, followed by the flare of a match that was almost swallowed up in the gloom until it touched a candle, then a pale yellow glow pushed the darkness out of the room. Hannah’s mother was sitting in her chair, a frayed blanket covering her lap, and a glass of cloudy water on the table next to her. She peered closely for a moment or two, then said, “It matters when you leave with my grandson, and return without him. What did you do?”
Hannah took off her shawl, folded it and set it on the table next to the door, and did not look directly at her mother. “I did what I needed to do.”
Her mother shook her head. “That child is the last bit of your husband that you have. What did you do?”
At the mention of her husband, Hannah closed her eyes and wavered, as though she might suddenly collapse. Unbidden, memories of Myron came back to her -- but not the ones she cherished; these were the ugly memories, of the days when the soldiers walled off the ghetto, and a handful of young men tried to stop them ...
Men with bricks and pipes going up against professionals with machineguns and rifles ... the outcome was a foregone conclusion, and the bodies had been left to lie in the street for days before the soldiers would allow them to be buried.
Hannah breathed deeply, drawing in her breath and letting it out slowly, several times, before she said, almost inaudibly, “I know.” She looked directly at her mother, then, and added, “Mother, we know what is going to happen. We’ve heard what happened in the other ghettoes.”
It was her turn to look away. “Rumors. And even if it’s true, just because it happened there -- ”
“You call them rumors, because you don’t want to believe, but in your heart you know. They intend to kill us. It may not be tomorrow, it may not even be this week, but one day they are going to decide that just walling us in and starving us to death, slowly, isn’t working for them anymore, and they will move against us. And then we will all die.”
“It might not happen.”
Hannah covered her face with her hands for a moment, then wiped her eyes with her fingers. “They intend for us to die. We know that. That’s all we need to know. And I don’t intend to leave my son’s fate in their hands. Myron and I made him ... I birthed him -- his life is not theirs to take.”
Hannah’s mother was suddenly struck by a cold that went to her bones, and she could barely speak. “Hannah -- you didn’t ... ”
Hannah looked at her with a puzzled expression, then understood, and shook her head vehemently. “Mother -- his life is not mine to take, either. He is a gift from God -- a last remnant of love from my husband, a last bit of hope in this graveyard of dreams.”
“Then where is he? What did you do with my grandson?”
Hannah sat down in the only other chair in the room, and folded her hands in her lap. Her voice was low and dispassionate as she explained. “There is a spot near the west wall ... from the roof of Kurtzmann’s store you can see across the wall to a neighborhood -- a neighborhood of homes that look like they’re in a completely different world from us. And in one of those homes I saw a young couple ... they reminded me of Myron and me, when we first married.”
She looked at her mother nervously. “I thought about this for some time, now. I remember playing in Kurtzmann’s basement -- when you used to shop there -- and I thought there might be a way to get from there to the other side of the wall. And there was -- it meant going through a couple of basements, and a portion of the storm sewer, but I came out in a building on the other side, tonight. Very carefully -- because there were soldiers on patrol -- very carefully, I found my way to this young couple’s house, and I ... ”
She trailed off, took a couple of breaths, and bit her lip. “I wrapped him in his blanket, and I laid him in a basket on their front porch, and I knocked on the door -- and ran.”
Hannah’s mother leaned forward. “And then what?”
“And then -- I prayed. I prayed that they heard me knock, I prayed that they would answer the door ... I prayed that they would take him in.”
There was a long silence, then her mother stirred and said, “How can you leave your son, like that? Without knowing?”
Hannah looked at her mother steadily, then, and said, “Because I do know. I know that if he had stayed with me, his fate would be certain death. And I know that by doing this, I have changed his fate from certain death to the possibility of hope -- and in this time and place, that’s the best I could do for him.”
Her mother looked at her for a moment, then leaned over and blew out the candle, plunging the room back into darkness. “If everything you say is true -- if everything you say about what’s going to happen to us is true -- then I don’t see how you can hope.”
In the darkness, Hannah reached out and took her mother’s hand, squeezed it gently. “If everything I say is true, then what else do we have, but hope?”
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 27, 2017, issue.
Copyright 2017 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.
"Rock-Like Living" by Keith Wagner
"Celebrating Our Gifts" by Keith Wagner
"Hannah's Story" by Keith Hewitt
Rock-Like Living
by Keith Wagner
Matthew 16:13-20
Jesus said to Peter, "You are Peter, the Rock; and on this rock I will build my church." What does it mean for the Church to be a rock? I believe he was talking about life, specifically how one enters the kingdom of heaven.
I believe that to build our lives on solid ground is to be committed to helping others. Commitment to the faith requires sharing our resources, remaining steadfast and believing anything is possible.
I was vacationing in the Chesapeake Bay this summer and in that area there are thousands of people who commute to Washington D.C. every day. Some commute over two hours away. I noticed that there were a number of “Park and Ride” areas. Folks drive to a central location, park their car and then ride a bus to work for the remainder of their commute. Here in the midwest we are used to driving to work solo. Ride sharing is scarce and we have no mass transit systems. Think of the resources that could be saved if we shared what we have.
To live our lives like the rock is to believe that anything is possible. Too often we feel as though our efforts go unnoticed so we don’t even try. Or, we sense that a wrong can’t be righted or a problem can’t be solved and we become overwhelmed.
In the Chesapeake I do a lot of sailing. One year I was sailing with some very good friends. Our boat captain that year was the most experienced of all of us. We were heading out to the Chesapeake Bay from a channel that was narrow and shallow. The wind was strong and the seas were choppy. We drifted to the left and our sailboat went aground. Our captain panicked, which is unusual for him. We backed off and he decided that we better go back in. We motored back to the dock and sat there. Now we were in a marina where hundreds of boats, many larger than ours, were docked. I thought to myself, “These boats navigate this channel every day. Surely, it is not impossible for us.”
I said to my friend who was overwhelmed with the situation that I had every confidence in his ability to take us out of the channel. I also suggested that he might stay to the right to avoid drift. Drift was something I was familiar with having served in the Navy. After a 30 minute waiting period we headed out again and this time we safely navigated our way through the channel. Anything is possible.
One of the places in the Chesapeake we always sail to is St. Michael’s, Maryland. At the center of town is Christ Church. It is one of the oldest churches in the US, founded in 1672. For almost four centuries Christ Church has remained an integral part of the community. The church is stone, literally a rock on the Eastern shore of Maryland. One of the reasons they continue to be a rock is due to their many outreach programs such as: operating a food pantry, supplying school children with supplies and building homes. In 2017 Christ Church committed to building seven new homes in St. Michael’s for people who couldn’t otherwise afford a home. Their mission statement reads, “We are a vibrant faith community grounded in history and open to the future. We are inclusive, caring, active and engaged in proclaiming the good news of Christ to all God’s people.”
* * *
Celebrating Our Gifts
by Keith Wagner
Romans 12:1-8
When I began my ministry I served three small churches in the country. I had always lived in larger cities so the experience was a real culture shock. The worship services were at 9, 10 and 11 AM respectively. In between each church I drove about 10 miles. The first church was the smallest, only about 15 people. On my very first Sunday I was getting ready to leave but my car was out of gas. We were 20 miles from the nearest gas station. One man in the church immediately went to the back of his car and brought a 5-gallon gas container and put gas in my tank. He said, “After living in the country all your life you learn to carry gas with you.”
I shall never forget his kindness. He was also the man who went to the church early on Sunday mornings to stoke up the furnace. The folks at that small country church were the most loving and humble folks I had ever met. They loved their little church but most importantly they loved each other. Although they were small in numbers their ministry of compassion was great.
Here we find Paul reminding the church that everyone is different but all are important. He said there is a variety of "spiritual gifts" or talents but all are inspired by the same God. None is better than any of the others. We may not fully understand nor do we always agree of the ways that others live out their faith. But, that doesn’t mean that they are not inspired by God.
When Paul wrote this letter he was writing to those who were feeling excluded or unimportant. He was also giving encouragement to those who had gifts but were reluctant to use them. Preaching is a gift, but then so is putting gas in the preacher’s empty tank.
What did Paul mean by saying “we are one body with many members?” I believe he meant the love ethic, “to love one another and our neighbors as ourselves.” We love by helping, giving, teaching, nurturing, listening, building relationships or just being with.
In his book, Home Fires, Charles L. Allen, tells the story about a man who wanted to ask his boss for a raise. He told his wife of his intentions that morning. He went to work but he was nervous. Toward the end of the day he finally got up enough courage to ask. To his surprise, his boss gave him a larger increase than he had anticipated. He also praised him for the great job he was doing. The man was elated and when he arrived home he found the dining room table set with the best china. Candles were burning and his favorite dinner was waiting for him. He thought, “Someone must have called his wife and told her the news.” He went into the kitchen and told his wife the good news and they embraced.
A little later he sat down at the dinner table and found a note that read; “Congratulations, darling, I knew you would get the raise. This dinner will tell you how much I love you.” The dinner was wonderful. When his wife got up to take away the plates and get the dessert, he noticed another card stuck to the bottom of her plate. It fell to the floor as she went into the kitchen. He retrieved it and read these words; “Don’t worry about not getting the raise, my dear, even though you deserved it. This dinner will tell you how much I love you.”
The woman loved her husband regardless of the outcome. She, like the man who put gas in my tank, was prepared to show him how much she cared.
Paul was also saying that as a congregation they were dependent on one another. Paul wanted the Church to understand that their individual talents meant nothing unless they benefitted the whole community. When a church, or any group of people for that matter, works together for the common good, great things can happen. Every believer has some gift to offer. We are not in competition and no one’s gift is greater than another.
The emperor penguins of Antarctica know the importance of teamwork. They huddle together by the thousands, providing enough warmth to survive the brutal, freezing weather. They take turns monitoring the outside of their giant huddle, on the lookout for danger or food. After one of the penguins finishes “perimeter duty” it moves to the inside of the group where it can rest and keep warm. The penguins could not survive if they didn’t rotate and take turns keeping each other warm. Every penguin contributes to the whole group. No one is less important than any other.
We can learn from the penguins. Teamwork enables us to survive. The more difficult the conditions the more important it is for us to band together. Maybe we don’t need to share warmth, but we might need to share our vision, our ideas and our encouragement.
* * *
Hannah's Story
by Keith Hewitt
Exodus 1:8--2:10
“What did you do, Hannah?”
The question, shaped like an accusation but without the energy or passion to give it that edge, came out of the darkness as soon as Hannah closed the door behind her -- softly, she thought, so as to wake no one up. She considered her options, and shrugged in the darkness. “Nothing, Mother.”
“Where were you?”
“Does it matter?”
There was a scratching noise from the darkness, followed by the flare of a match that was almost swallowed up in the gloom until it touched a candle, then a pale yellow glow pushed the darkness out of the room. Hannah’s mother was sitting in her chair, a frayed blanket covering her lap, and a glass of cloudy water on the table next to her. She peered closely for a moment or two, then said, “It matters when you leave with my grandson, and return without him. What did you do?”
Hannah took off her shawl, folded it and set it on the table next to the door, and did not look directly at her mother. “I did what I needed to do.”
Her mother shook her head. “That child is the last bit of your husband that you have. What did you do?”
At the mention of her husband, Hannah closed her eyes and wavered, as though she might suddenly collapse. Unbidden, memories of Myron came back to her -- but not the ones she cherished; these were the ugly memories, of the days when the soldiers walled off the ghetto, and a handful of young men tried to stop them ...
Men with bricks and pipes going up against professionals with machineguns and rifles ... the outcome was a foregone conclusion, and the bodies had been left to lie in the street for days before the soldiers would allow them to be buried.
Hannah breathed deeply, drawing in her breath and letting it out slowly, several times, before she said, almost inaudibly, “I know.” She looked directly at her mother, then, and added, “Mother, we know what is going to happen. We’ve heard what happened in the other ghettoes.”
It was her turn to look away. “Rumors. And even if it’s true, just because it happened there -- ”
“You call them rumors, because you don’t want to believe, but in your heart you know. They intend to kill us. It may not be tomorrow, it may not even be this week, but one day they are going to decide that just walling us in and starving us to death, slowly, isn’t working for them anymore, and they will move against us. And then we will all die.”
“It might not happen.”
Hannah covered her face with her hands for a moment, then wiped her eyes with her fingers. “They intend for us to die. We know that. That’s all we need to know. And I don’t intend to leave my son’s fate in their hands. Myron and I made him ... I birthed him -- his life is not theirs to take.”
Hannah’s mother was suddenly struck by a cold that went to her bones, and she could barely speak. “Hannah -- you didn’t ... ”
Hannah looked at her with a puzzled expression, then understood, and shook her head vehemently. “Mother -- his life is not mine to take, either. He is a gift from God -- a last remnant of love from my husband, a last bit of hope in this graveyard of dreams.”
“Then where is he? What did you do with my grandson?”
Hannah sat down in the only other chair in the room, and folded her hands in her lap. Her voice was low and dispassionate as she explained. “There is a spot near the west wall ... from the roof of Kurtzmann’s store you can see across the wall to a neighborhood -- a neighborhood of homes that look like they’re in a completely different world from us. And in one of those homes I saw a young couple ... they reminded me of Myron and me, when we first married.”
She looked at her mother nervously. “I thought about this for some time, now. I remember playing in Kurtzmann’s basement -- when you used to shop there -- and I thought there might be a way to get from there to the other side of the wall. And there was -- it meant going through a couple of basements, and a portion of the storm sewer, but I came out in a building on the other side, tonight. Very carefully -- because there were soldiers on patrol -- very carefully, I found my way to this young couple’s house, and I ... ”
She trailed off, took a couple of breaths, and bit her lip. “I wrapped him in his blanket, and I laid him in a basket on their front porch, and I knocked on the door -- and ran.”
Hannah’s mother leaned forward. “And then what?”
“And then -- I prayed. I prayed that they heard me knock, I prayed that they would answer the door ... I prayed that they would take him in.”
There was a long silence, then her mother stirred and said, “How can you leave your son, like that? Without knowing?”
Hannah looked at her mother steadily, then, and said, “Because I do know. I know that if he had stayed with me, his fate would be certain death. And I know that by doing this, I have changed his fate from certain death to the possibility of hope -- and in this time and place, that’s the best I could do for him.”
Her mother looked at her for a moment, then leaned over and blew out the candle, plunging the room back into darkness. “If everything you say is true -- if everything you say about what’s going to happen to us is true -- then I don’t see how you can hope.”
In the darkness, Hannah reached out and took her mother’s hand, squeezed it gently. “If everything I say is true, then what else do we have, but hope?”
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 27, 2017, issue.
Copyright 2017 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.
