The Roots Of Love
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Roots of Love" by Larry Winebrenner
"Is It Possible?" by John Smylie
"The Net" by Keith Hewitt
"All Nature Sings" by Larry Winebrenner
What's Up This Week
How far are we willing to go to demonstrate our love for others? That's not an easy question to answer, but the stories in this edition of StoryShare offer a variety of perspectives. In "The Roots of Love," Larry Winebrenner depicts a young woman and her socially awkward boyfriend -- who despite his modest appearance is willing to pay the ultimate price of love. John Smylie shares an account of a minister who is so despairing at the conflicts in his congregation that he contemplates leaving the ministry -- until a trusted colleague helps him to see that it is possible to love as Jesus loves, even in the most trying of circumstances. Keith Hewitt spins a powerful tale of an old fisherman and disciple who tries to explain to a young emissary sent by the Jewish authorities that just as a fisherman's net catches all varieties of fish, so God's love and grace falls on everyone… not just the chosen ones. But sometimes it's just the small, everyday acts of love that matter most -- as Larry Winebrenner shows us with a vignette about a young girl whose grandfather helps her listen for the music of God's praise in nature as they walk together.
* * * * * * * * *
The Roots of Love
by Larry Winebrenner
John 15:9-17
No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends.
-- John 15:13
Esmeralda watched with disgust as Amanda's boyfriend walked around from the passenger door of the Impala and timidly kissed Amanda's cheek. Esmerelda watched as the young man slowly climbed the steps of the apartment building, looking at each step as if counting. He rang the doorbell, then turned toward Amanda and gave a shy wave. Only after he had entered the door did Amanda drive away.
"Why did you take up with that loser?" Esmerelda asked her granddaughter for the fiftieth time. "He's useless, has no job, couldn't get one, and if he got one he couldn't hold it. He doesn't have the sense God gave a billy goat."
Amanda had heard it all before. She had whittled her responses down to "He loves me, Grandma."
"I've told you before, you can't live on love. That boy will never be able to do anything meaningful for you." These were words Esmerelda would regret in days soon to come.
Amanda thought about their first encounter. Arthur had entered the flower shop where Amanda worked.
"I'm here for Miss Lily's flowers," he said.
"Do you have an order form?" she asked. He seemed confused. "Here. Let me call her," Amanda said. The order was confirmed, and Arthur took it to Miss Lily.
After several weeks, he spoke to her on the fifth errand. "Miss Mandy," he said, "you're not very good looking." That cut to the quick. No one ever asked Amanda for a date, no matter how nice she tried to be. But Arthur didn't stop there. He went on, rather shyly, "But that don't make no never mind. To me you are the most beautiful girl in the world. I love you."
He fled after saying his little speech, and he never returned to the flower shop. Amanda couldn't get those words out of her head. No one had ever said anything like that to her in her whole life.
One day she saw him at church. She waited for him outside after the service. "Arthur," she called as he walked by. He looked like he was about to run. "Could we go to the movies together some day?" she asked. He really looked ready to flee.
"Miss Mandy," he said, "I can't take you to the movies. I can't drive."
"I'll drive," she said quickly. "We'll go Dutch."
"What's that mean?" he asked.
"It means each of us have to pay our own way."
He thought a few minutes, then said, "That's good. I can pay for my half of the gas if we don't put too much in."
That's when she realized she really liked Arthur.
A week after Amanda had her latest discussion with her grandmother, she and Arthur attended the church picnic at Hell's Canyon Park. The park got its name from the fiercely raging stream in the bottom of a ravine in the park. Picnickers were warned to stay away from the rim of the ravine.
Still, soon after settling in, everyone heard a scream. They saw Amanda being swept downstream in Hell's Canyon River. "The cliff just caved in," sobbed a little girl.
It didn't matter how it happened. Amanda was certain to be dashed to pieces in the rapids and the series of three waterfalls downstream. Then, she miraculously grabbed a rock jutting sharply out of the water. It was a tiny miracle, but she couldn't hold on long.
"Somebody could try swimming out there with this rope and we could pull her in," said the devastated associate pastor.
"In that current?"
"If someone started far enough upstream…"
"They'd be beat up on the rocks before they reached her."
"She can't hold on for long."
While everyone else was talking, Arthur slipped the end of the rope beneath his belt, walked up to the spot from which Amanda fell, and he jumped.
"That crazy guy just jumped in with a rope!" cried a voice.
They watched him tumble, turn, get upright, swim, strike a rock, and repeat the process. Everyone held their breaths. Arthur managed to get beyond the rock Amanda was clinging to. The rope slipped over her body and threatened to go beyond her reach.
She grabbed it. The force of Arthur's body heading downstream threatened the rescue. Those above pulled mightily. Finally they saw Arthur say something to Amanda. He pulled the rope from under his belt and was swept away.
When the group was finally been able to pull Amanda ashore and help her to the top of the ravine, they asked her what Arthur's last words were. She said, "I love you."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Is It Possible?
by John Smylie
John 15:9-17
"Love one another as I've loved you."
Our culture and even our world seem a bit confused these days when it comes to love. Perhaps we are particularly limited and ill-equipped with our English language to express the different kinds of love that make up a life. We are inundated with stories about romantic love, then there is love for members of our family, then there's brotherly and sisterly love that reaches beyond families to neighbors and friends, and then there is God's love.
At our most recent youth Sunday -- a service designed by teenagers -- one of the songs they chose was "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…" If it was easy to love as Jesus loves we'd be in a more peaceful world.
He was a minister, extremely bright, full of creativity, yet there was something about him that was unsettled. The church to which he was called to serve was in a part of the country that was filled with high-powered executives. Even though many of the members were highly successful in the world of business and commerce, when it came to church there seemed to be a particular mean streak that was in evidence at times in the congregation -- they were not skilled at loving as Jesus loved.
Joe -- that's what we'll call our minister friend -- was particularly sensitive to conflict. In fact, because of his ministerial leadership role he was a target of the frustration that would surface due to the power plays within the congregation. Joe had never learned about conflict management in seminary. He wasn't gifted to handle what some have called "the well-intentioned dragons" that often fill our congregations. He knew that God loved him and he knew that God loved each one in the congregation; in fact, he knew God loved each and all of creation. But knowing this didn't relieve the pain that he felt because of the conflicts that arose around little things.
People would argue over the way the hymns were played and the music was picked. People would argue because a door was not locked or a light was left on. People would argue over changes as simple as reformatting the service leaflet. People would argue over so many things which Joe felt were trivial matters that had very little to do with the gospel. Over time all of these little arguments began to steal the joy that was in Joe before he came to serve in the church.
Folks argued over what kind of flowers should go in the garden. Folks argued over what kind of light bulbs should be used. People became incensed because the church once used styrofoam cups. The list goes on, and Joe had no capacity to deal with what he felt was the unreasonable behavior of a few members of the church while others stayed in the background seeking to ignore the negativity -- perhaps believing that by ignoring the problems gossip and backbiting they would go away. They didn't go away; in fact, the church had a history of ministers going away and people going away hurt because of the continuing painful behaviors.
And Jesus asks us to love one another as he has loved us.
When Joe came across this passage as he prepared a sermon he wondered to himself for the first time, is it possible? Joe had always believed that God was more powerful than our divisions. He believed that God could heal the rifts that had developed between people and communities. But the smallness and pettiness of this particular community made him wonder if it really was possible to love one another as Jesus loved us. Joe didn't know what to do. He didn't have the skills to love the community as a psychologist offering a medical model of a healing. He didn't have the skills nor did he have the desire to get everybody to like him and agree with him -- and quite frankly he had learned at an earlier stage in life that this was not his role as a minister and a leader of the congregation.
All he knew was that he was becoming caught up in the tangled web of a community that did not display the love of Christ.
There was a particular moment when he felt defeated; there was no one thing that pushed him over the edge, just the steady flow of negativity that finally caused him to contemplate leaving the ministry. All he could think to do was call out to God. But as much as he prayed, he was so tangled up in his own thoughts that if God was speaking back to him he couldn't hear.
He then called a friend. Albert had been in the ministry for many years. He was extremely outspoken, and though he was deeply respected he never could achieve the highest levels of ministry because of his strong opinions. He had offended too many people by speaking the truth. But Joe trusted Albert.
Joe described to Albert the problems that he was having with the congregation and within himself. He described to them all the little nitpicking behaviors that were beginning to eat him alive. He wondered out loud with Albert if there was really anything that he or anyone could do. He recounted how many ministers had been wounded at this congregation, and he talked about the casualties among the members. People getting hurt and leaving -- while others seem to bury their heads in the sand, wanting church to be something that was little more than one hour a week.
Albert listened to Joe and asked him if he loved them the congregation. And Joe's immediate response was "I'm not sure."
Albert asked Joe if Joe thought there might have been a time in Jesus' ministry when Jesus questioned his affection for those he was called to serve. Joe listed several occasions where he thought Jesus was not particularly pleased with those he was called to serve. He talked about the Pharisees and the Sadducees and those who seemed more concerned about a relationship of keeping the law -- religious laws -- rather than engaging fresh relationships with God and one another. But then Joe realized as he was talking to Albert that Jesus engaged the Pharisees and the Sadducees because he loved them. Jesus engaged those who he had troubles with because he wanted to give them an opportunity to grow beyond their self-limiting behaviors. And Joe also realized as he was speaking with Albert that Jesus did not always or even often accomplish much in those difficult/loving conflicts.
Joe trailed off into silence, and Albert let the silence remain until finally he said, "To love as Jesus loved is difficult. To love as Jesus loves often isolates us in our positions of leadership. But Joe, you're not alone, I know there are people there at your congregation who love you and want you to do well -- you may just need to wake them up and help them come out of their cocoons as you invite them to share your burden and your leadership. Can you think of anyone in the congregation, Joe, who could help you do what's needed?"
Joe thought for a while, a smile coming to his face. "Of course there are a few, I've just been afraid to ask them for help. Albert, I'm not very good at times at recognizing or asking for what I need, and sometimes I get so overwhelmed by the daily challenges that I lose sight of the big picture. Thanks for helping me see it again. You know, I do believe it is possible."
Albert asked, "What do you believe is possible?"
Joe said, "I believe it's possible to love as Jesus loved us. I don't believe it's possible to do it alone, but I do believe it's possible to do it with others -- and that's what you reminded me of through our friendship and in this conversation. Thank you."
Loving like Jesus loves takes work, faith, and friendship. Loving like Jesus loves takes knowing Jesus -- and like any other relationship, knowing Jesus is a lifelong endeavor. Loving like Jesus loves is worth the effort, and the reward is not only healthier persons but the possibility of healthier communities. Can we love like Jesus loves? The simple answer is yes. He would not ask us to do something he does not believe we are capable of doing. His word -- his trust -- his belief in us -- his continuing relationship with us found in so many ways -- gives us what we need to accomplish his word and his will.
Joe found a few friends in the congregation who shared his concerns and got to work, and Jesus smiled!
John Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
The Net
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 10:44-48
He was just where Jacob expected him to be -- where he always seemed to end up whenever he was in town, within a stone's throw of the sea, beneath the shade of a tree, where a fishing net drooped wearily on a wooden frame. The old man squatted on his heels before the net, patiently weaving together those parts of it that had torn, or simply come apart after repeated soaking and drying. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, a melody Jacob did not recognize, as his fingers belied their gnarled thickness and worked nimbly, quickly, on the fibers, with never a wasted moment or motion.
Jacob stood nearby for a moment or two, waiting to be recognized, and finally cleared his throat diffidently. "Master," he ventured quietly.
The old man turned his head for just a second, enough to let Jacob see dark, lively eyes beneath thick, gray eyebrows drawn close together. "I am not your master, son," he rumbled, hands still working, then he turned back to the net and added, "We have but one Master, and it is not I."
"I beg your forgiveness. May I have a word with you, Rabbi?"
"It seems to me you've already had several." He did not look back, instead concentrating on the net hung before him, hands and fingers caressing the fibers, looking for weak spots.
Well, they said he could be difficult sometimes. "I come to you with a message -- a request from some of the elders," Jacob explained, plowing past the old man's word play.
"Go ahead." He continued to study the net, strand by strand.
"Excuse me, Rabbi, but is now a bad time? I can come back later if--"
The old man sighed and turned his head again to face Jacob, while his hands still moved through the net. "Our work is never done, young man. We can't afford to stop everything that we are doing just so we can talk. You have questions -- the owners of this net have empty bellies. If I stop to answer your questions I may satisfy you, but I would leave them hungry." He turned back to the net, finished speaking without looking at Jacob. "As luck would have it, we can address both needs at the same time, with a little effort."
Exasperating, Jacob thought, and sighed himself. "Right," he agreed briskly. As he stepped around to the other side of the net so he could face the old man, he realized with a flare of anger that the man was smiling slightly, his cracked lips drawn up at the corners, splitting the bristle of his ember-colored beard. He mocks me! Jacob hesitated, gathering his thoughts, suddenly aware that his steps had brought him out of the shade, so the afternoon sun shone almost directly into his eyes; he tilted his head and raised one hand to shade them. "The elders are concerned about you," he began.
"Their concern is appreciated," the old man answered, without a hint of irony -- or was there just the faintest twinkle in his eye?
"Rabbi, you have taught us much, but we worry about the company you keep. Tax collectors, whores, adulterers -- even Gentiles!" he added, emphasizing the last most strongly. "It's not fitting for a man of your position -- it's not fitting for anyone, but particularly for a man like you, a leader, a teacher. We fear it will lead to misunderstandings and questions."
The old man nodded and seemed unsurprised. "A very wise man once told me that to have questions is to stand at the threshold of wisdom."
"The Master?" Jacob guessed.
"My father." The old man held up one corner of the net close to his eye, shrugged and seemed satisfied, then let it drop as he stood up slowly and wiped his hands on the leather apron around his waist. "He also told me that anyone can be wrong, but only a man of principle will stand his ground long after he knows he's been shown his mistake."
Jacob frowned; that didn't make any sense. Patiently he said, "I understand you may have fondness for them -- and I suppose some of them are really not bad people…"
"The Master ate with such," the old man interrupted softly, his eyes not there for a moment, fixed on something from another time and place. "He ate with us, and we are not exactly the cream of society either."
"What the Master may or may not have done is really not the issue. The issue is what you are doing, Rabbi. You come to share the word of the Lord, to tell us of promises kept and prophecies fulfilled -- and yet you invite them to hear the word with us." The old man sighed again and carefully began pulling the net off the rude wooden frame as Jacob pressed his point. "It's just not correct. The Master sprang from us, Rabbi -- a son of Israel. Surely you can't believe that he would have wanted you to take his words and… and scatter them before Gentiles, like so many precious jewels before swine. It's wrong -- it makes no sense."
"I see." The rabbi finished taking the net off the frame, tucked it under one arm, and started to walk toward the waterline. Jacob looked after him for a moment, his mouth working in silent consternation, then set off to follow him, stepping briskly for a couple of paces to catch up. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the old man spoke first. "Have you always lived by the sea, son?"
"What? I--" He shook his head as though to clear it from a fog. "Yes. Yes, I've lived here all my life."
They were at the water's edge now. The old man looked out at the broad, flat blue of the sea, where sunlight danced like diamonds across the low, steady swell. Without looking at the young man sent to reason with him, he said, "Did you know there are dozens of kinds of fish in the sea?"
"Yes, of course…" Jacob began impatiently.
"Of course. Musht, biny, sardine -- it takes all kinds to fill the sea." As he spoke, he took the net out from under his arm and stepped forward so the water lapped at his ankles. With ease born of long practice -- Lord, how many decades did I spend fishing this sea for practice? -- he cast the net into the water and watched it sink beneath the sparkling surface. "Think of this sea as the world," he said quietly. "The grace of our Lord and Savior falls upon it like that net falls upon the sea."
"I don't --" Jacob began again.
The old man stepped farther out, up to his knees now, and gathered in the net. A knot of fish squirmed in the center, scales shining in the sun, and he held the net up high so the young man could see as he pointed to different parts of the knot. "There's a biny, and another one, and there's a musht, and a sardine, and another biny…" He met Jacob's eyes, and held them with his own. "Now, I have a taste for biny, and I may only want biny -- but the net doesn't care, it catches up all kind of fish… just as the Master's grace and love catches up all kind of people."
"Men are not fish, Rabbi."
"Nor are they gods, son. If we seek to exclude others from the word of God, if we try to limit the gift of grace based on who they are, then it seems to me that we are trying to make God in our image, rather than being content that we are made in his." He spread his hands, one grasping the net, the other empty. "I am just a simple fisherman, young man -- not a god. It is not my place to pick and choose whom God will bless. Is it yours?"
Jacob stared at the old fisherman, standing there knee-deep in the waters of Galilee. Finally, he turned wordlessly and walked back to town, trying to make sense of nets and fish and grace as he walked.
He was still trying when he reported back to the elders.
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT department at a major public safety testing organization.
All Nature Sings
by Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 98
Jordan tooted away on the little flute Grandpa had whittled for her from a willow twig. Actually she was doing quite well, sounding out a tune.
"You make up that tune yourself?" asked Grandpa.
"Sorta," said Jordan. "I think it's a tune I learned in Sunday school. I'm just trying to get it to come out of the flute."
Grandpa laughed and tousled her hair.
"Don't!" she said, and ducked away from his hand. She hated having her hair tousled.
"You're doing pretty well," he said.
They walked along the seashore on the beach for a while. This was one of her favorite things to do when she visited her grandparents. Not swimming -- the water was too rough for that. Walking -- with Grandpa.
One reason she liked it was because Grandpa liked it too. Another reason was Grandpa talked to her like a grownup. Adults had such a bad habit of talking to children as if they were babies.
And they never listened. Grandpa listened. She could tell him anything. He would never laugh. Or scold. How did you learn things if you didn't ask questions?
"Grandpa," she said, thinking of another conversation where Mother called her foolish. "Can trees talk?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," he said. "I think I sometimes hear them whispering, though that may be just the breeze rustling their leaves. Why do you ask?"
"There's this poem that says the trees 'lift their leafy arms to pray.' Mother said that's just poetic lies."
"Poetic license," corrected Grandpa. "That means you can say things in poetry that are a little exaggerated -- or odd. You know, like some of Dr. Seuss' books."
Jordan laughed. "He does say some pretty odd things, like green eggs. So, does that mean trees don't talk?"
Grandpa found a rock high enough for him to sit comfortably. Jordan knew that signaled that they were about to talk. She sat in the sand at his feet.
"You remember how the movie The Sound of Music began?"
"Yeah," said Jordan. "Julie Andrews began by singing, 'The hills are alive with music.' "
"Listen," said Grandpa. "Listen."
They sat quietly, listening.
After a while, Grandpa asked, "What did you hear?"
"I heard the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. I heard birds singing. I heard the wind whistling through some rocks."
"You sure that was the breeze rustling the leaves? I think I heard the trees whispering, 'Praise be to God. Praise be to God.' The birds joined in, saying, 'Praises. Praises. Praises.' Then the sea roared, 'Glory to God in the highest.' Keeping rhythm with the chorus were the waves, clapping their hands."
"How did you hear all that?" asked Jordan in awe.
"I had an advantage," admitted Grandpa. "I've listened to nature praise God before. And I've read my Bible."
"Your Bible?"
"Yeah. The Psalms talk all the time about nature praising God. You take Psalm 98, for example. It says Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it. Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy."
"Grandpa," squealed Jordan, "that's just what you got through saying."
"Humph," he grunted. "Told you I had an advantage. Now you listen and see what you hear."
Once more they sat quietly, listening.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
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StoryShare, May 17, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
"The Roots of Love" by Larry Winebrenner
"Is It Possible?" by John Smylie
"The Net" by Keith Hewitt
"All Nature Sings" by Larry Winebrenner
What's Up This Week
How far are we willing to go to demonstrate our love for others? That's not an easy question to answer, but the stories in this edition of StoryShare offer a variety of perspectives. In "The Roots of Love," Larry Winebrenner depicts a young woman and her socially awkward boyfriend -- who despite his modest appearance is willing to pay the ultimate price of love. John Smylie shares an account of a minister who is so despairing at the conflicts in his congregation that he contemplates leaving the ministry -- until a trusted colleague helps him to see that it is possible to love as Jesus loves, even in the most trying of circumstances. Keith Hewitt spins a powerful tale of an old fisherman and disciple who tries to explain to a young emissary sent by the Jewish authorities that just as a fisherman's net catches all varieties of fish, so God's love and grace falls on everyone… not just the chosen ones. But sometimes it's just the small, everyday acts of love that matter most -- as Larry Winebrenner shows us with a vignette about a young girl whose grandfather helps her listen for the music of God's praise in nature as they walk together.
* * * * * * * * *
The Roots of Love
by Larry Winebrenner
John 15:9-17
No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends.
-- John 15:13
Esmeralda watched with disgust as Amanda's boyfriend walked around from the passenger door of the Impala and timidly kissed Amanda's cheek. Esmerelda watched as the young man slowly climbed the steps of the apartment building, looking at each step as if counting. He rang the doorbell, then turned toward Amanda and gave a shy wave. Only after he had entered the door did Amanda drive away.
"Why did you take up with that loser?" Esmerelda asked her granddaughter for the fiftieth time. "He's useless, has no job, couldn't get one, and if he got one he couldn't hold it. He doesn't have the sense God gave a billy goat."
Amanda had heard it all before. She had whittled her responses down to "He loves me, Grandma."
"I've told you before, you can't live on love. That boy will never be able to do anything meaningful for you." These were words Esmerelda would regret in days soon to come.
Amanda thought about their first encounter. Arthur had entered the flower shop where Amanda worked.
"I'm here for Miss Lily's flowers," he said.
"Do you have an order form?" she asked. He seemed confused. "Here. Let me call her," Amanda said. The order was confirmed, and Arthur took it to Miss Lily.
After several weeks, he spoke to her on the fifth errand. "Miss Mandy," he said, "you're not very good looking." That cut to the quick. No one ever asked Amanda for a date, no matter how nice she tried to be. But Arthur didn't stop there. He went on, rather shyly, "But that don't make no never mind. To me you are the most beautiful girl in the world. I love you."
He fled after saying his little speech, and he never returned to the flower shop. Amanda couldn't get those words out of her head. No one had ever said anything like that to her in her whole life.
One day she saw him at church. She waited for him outside after the service. "Arthur," she called as he walked by. He looked like he was about to run. "Could we go to the movies together some day?" she asked. He really looked ready to flee.
"Miss Mandy," he said, "I can't take you to the movies. I can't drive."
"I'll drive," she said quickly. "We'll go Dutch."
"What's that mean?" he asked.
"It means each of us have to pay our own way."
He thought a few minutes, then said, "That's good. I can pay for my half of the gas if we don't put too much in."
That's when she realized she really liked Arthur.
A week after Amanda had her latest discussion with her grandmother, she and Arthur attended the church picnic at Hell's Canyon Park. The park got its name from the fiercely raging stream in the bottom of a ravine in the park. Picnickers were warned to stay away from the rim of the ravine.
Still, soon after settling in, everyone heard a scream. They saw Amanda being swept downstream in Hell's Canyon River. "The cliff just caved in," sobbed a little girl.
It didn't matter how it happened. Amanda was certain to be dashed to pieces in the rapids and the series of three waterfalls downstream. Then, she miraculously grabbed a rock jutting sharply out of the water. It was a tiny miracle, but she couldn't hold on long.
"Somebody could try swimming out there with this rope and we could pull her in," said the devastated associate pastor.
"In that current?"
"If someone started far enough upstream…"
"They'd be beat up on the rocks before they reached her."
"She can't hold on for long."
While everyone else was talking, Arthur slipped the end of the rope beneath his belt, walked up to the spot from which Amanda fell, and he jumped.
"That crazy guy just jumped in with a rope!" cried a voice.
They watched him tumble, turn, get upright, swim, strike a rock, and repeat the process. Everyone held their breaths. Arthur managed to get beyond the rock Amanda was clinging to. The rope slipped over her body and threatened to go beyond her reach.
She grabbed it. The force of Arthur's body heading downstream threatened the rescue. Those above pulled mightily. Finally they saw Arthur say something to Amanda. He pulled the rope from under his belt and was swept away.
When the group was finally been able to pull Amanda ashore and help her to the top of the ravine, they asked her what Arthur's last words were. She said, "I love you."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
Is It Possible?
by John Smylie
John 15:9-17
"Love one another as I've loved you."
Our culture and even our world seem a bit confused these days when it comes to love. Perhaps we are particularly limited and ill-equipped with our English language to express the different kinds of love that make up a life. We are inundated with stories about romantic love, then there is love for members of our family, then there's brotherly and sisterly love that reaches beyond families to neighbors and friends, and then there is God's love.
At our most recent youth Sunday -- a service designed by teenagers -- one of the songs they chose was "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so…" If it was easy to love as Jesus loves we'd be in a more peaceful world.
He was a minister, extremely bright, full of creativity, yet there was something about him that was unsettled. The church to which he was called to serve was in a part of the country that was filled with high-powered executives. Even though many of the members were highly successful in the world of business and commerce, when it came to church there seemed to be a particular mean streak that was in evidence at times in the congregation -- they were not skilled at loving as Jesus loved.
Joe -- that's what we'll call our minister friend -- was particularly sensitive to conflict. In fact, because of his ministerial leadership role he was a target of the frustration that would surface due to the power plays within the congregation. Joe had never learned about conflict management in seminary. He wasn't gifted to handle what some have called "the well-intentioned dragons" that often fill our congregations. He knew that God loved him and he knew that God loved each one in the congregation; in fact, he knew God loved each and all of creation. But knowing this didn't relieve the pain that he felt because of the conflicts that arose around little things.
People would argue over the way the hymns were played and the music was picked. People would argue because a door was not locked or a light was left on. People would argue over changes as simple as reformatting the service leaflet. People would argue over so many things which Joe felt were trivial matters that had very little to do with the gospel. Over time all of these little arguments began to steal the joy that was in Joe before he came to serve in the church.
Folks argued over what kind of flowers should go in the garden. Folks argued over what kind of light bulbs should be used. People became incensed because the church once used styrofoam cups. The list goes on, and Joe had no capacity to deal with what he felt was the unreasonable behavior of a few members of the church while others stayed in the background seeking to ignore the negativity -- perhaps believing that by ignoring the problems gossip and backbiting they would go away. They didn't go away; in fact, the church had a history of ministers going away and people going away hurt because of the continuing painful behaviors.
And Jesus asks us to love one another as he has loved us.
When Joe came across this passage as he prepared a sermon he wondered to himself for the first time, is it possible? Joe had always believed that God was more powerful than our divisions. He believed that God could heal the rifts that had developed between people and communities. But the smallness and pettiness of this particular community made him wonder if it really was possible to love one another as Jesus loved us. Joe didn't know what to do. He didn't have the skills to love the community as a psychologist offering a medical model of a healing. He didn't have the skills nor did he have the desire to get everybody to like him and agree with him -- and quite frankly he had learned at an earlier stage in life that this was not his role as a minister and a leader of the congregation.
All he knew was that he was becoming caught up in the tangled web of a community that did not display the love of Christ.
There was a particular moment when he felt defeated; there was no one thing that pushed him over the edge, just the steady flow of negativity that finally caused him to contemplate leaving the ministry. All he could think to do was call out to God. But as much as he prayed, he was so tangled up in his own thoughts that if God was speaking back to him he couldn't hear.
He then called a friend. Albert had been in the ministry for many years. He was extremely outspoken, and though he was deeply respected he never could achieve the highest levels of ministry because of his strong opinions. He had offended too many people by speaking the truth. But Joe trusted Albert.
Joe described to Albert the problems that he was having with the congregation and within himself. He described to them all the little nitpicking behaviors that were beginning to eat him alive. He wondered out loud with Albert if there was really anything that he or anyone could do. He recounted how many ministers had been wounded at this congregation, and he talked about the casualties among the members. People getting hurt and leaving -- while others seem to bury their heads in the sand, wanting church to be something that was little more than one hour a week.
Albert listened to Joe and asked him if he loved them the congregation. And Joe's immediate response was "I'm not sure."
Albert asked Joe if Joe thought there might have been a time in Jesus' ministry when Jesus questioned his affection for those he was called to serve. Joe listed several occasions where he thought Jesus was not particularly pleased with those he was called to serve. He talked about the Pharisees and the Sadducees and those who seemed more concerned about a relationship of keeping the law -- religious laws -- rather than engaging fresh relationships with God and one another. But then Joe realized as he was talking to Albert that Jesus engaged the Pharisees and the Sadducees because he loved them. Jesus engaged those who he had troubles with because he wanted to give them an opportunity to grow beyond their self-limiting behaviors. And Joe also realized as he was speaking with Albert that Jesus did not always or even often accomplish much in those difficult/loving conflicts.
Joe trailed off into silence, and Albert let the silence remain until finally he said, "To love as Jesus loved is difficult. To love as Jesus loves often isolates us in our positions of leadership. But Joe, you're not alone, I know there are people there at your congregation who love you and want you to do well -- you may just need to wake them up and help them come out of their cocoons as you invite them to share your burden and your leadership. Can you think of anyone in the congregation, Joe, who could help you do what's needed?"
Joe thought for a while, a smile coming to his face. "Of course there are a few, I've just been afraid to ask them for help. Albert, I'm not very good at times at recognizing or asking for what I need, and sometimes I get so overwhelmed by the daily challenges that I lose sight of the big picture. Thanks for helping me see it again. You know, I do believe it is possible."
Albert asked, "What do you believe is possible?"
Joe said, "I believe it's possible to love as Jesus loved us. I don't believe it's possible to do it alone, but I do believe it's possible to do it with others -- and that's what you reminded me of through our friendship and in this conversation. Thank you."
Loving like Jesus loves takes work, faith, and friendship. Loving like Jesus loves takes knowing Jesus -- and like any other relationship, knowing Jesus is a lifelong endeavor. Loving like Jesus loves is worth the effort, and the reward is not only healthier persons but the possibility of healthier communities. Can we love like Jesus loves? The simple answer is yes. He would not ask us to do something he does not believe we are capable of doing. His word -- his trust -- his belief in us -- his continuing relationship with us found in so many ways -- gives us what we need to accomplish his word and his will.
Joe found a few friends in the congregation who shared his concerns and got to work, and Jesus smiled!
John Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
The Net
by Keith Hewitt
Acts 10:44-48
He was just where Jacob expected him to be -- where he always seemed to end up whenever he was in town, within a stone's throw of the sea, beneath the shade of a tree, where a fishing net drooped wearily on a wooden frame. The old man squatted on his heels before the net, patiently weaving together those parts of it that had torn, or simply come apart after repeated soaking and drying. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, a melody Jacob did not recognize, as his fingers belied their gnarled thickness and worked nimbly, quickly, on the fibers, with never a wasted moment or motion.
Jacob stood nearby for a moment or two, waiting to be recognized, and finally cleared his throat diffidently. "Master," he ventured quietly.
The old man turned his head for just a second, enough to let Jacob see dark, lively eyes beneath thick, gray eyebrows drawn close together. "I am not your master, son," he rumbled, hands still working, then he turned back to the net and added, "We have but one Master, and it is not I."
"I beg your forgiveness. May I have a word with you, Rabbi?"
"It seems to me you've already had several." He did not look back, instead concentrating on the net hung before him, hands and fingers caressing the fibers, looking for weak spots.
Well, they said he could be difficult sometimes. "I come to you with a message -- a request from some of the elders," Jacob explained, plowing past the old man's word play.
"Go ahead." He continued to study the net, strand by strand.
"Excuse me, Rabbi, but is now a bad time? I can come back later if--"
The old man sighed and turned his head again to face Jacob, while his hands still moved through the net. "Our work is never done, young man. We can't afford to stop everything that we are doing just so we can talk. You have questions -- the owners of this net have empty bellies. If I stop to answer your questions I may satisfy you, but I would leave them hungry." He turned back to the net, finished speaking without looking at Jacob. "As luck would have it, we can address both needs at the same time, with a little effort."
Exasperating, Jacob thought, and sighed himself. "Right," he agreed briskly. As he stepped around to the other side of the net so he could face the old man, he realized with a flare of anger that the man was smiling slightly, his cracked lips drawn up at the corners, splitting the bristle of his ember-colored beard. He mocks me! Jacob hesitated, gathering his thoughts, suddenly aware that his steps had brought him out of the shade, so the afternoon sun shone almost directly into his eyes; he tilted his head and raised one hand to shade them. "The elders are concerned about you," he began.
"Their concern is appreciated," the old man answered, without a hint of irony -- or was there just the faintest twinkle in his eye?
"Rabbi, you have taught us much, but we worry about the company you keep. Tax collectors, whores, adulterers -- even Gentiles!" he added, emphasizing the last most strongly. "It's not fitting for a man of your position -- it's not fitting for anyone, but particularly for a man like you, a leader, a teacher. We fear it will lead to misunderstandings and questions."
The old man nodded and seemed unsurprised. "A very wise man once told me that to have questions is to stand at the threshold of wisdom."
"The Master?" Jacob guessed.
"My father." The old man held up one corner of the net close to his eye, shrugged and seemed satisfied, then let it drop as he stood up slowly and wiped his hands on the leather apron around his waist. "He also told me that anyone can be wrong, but only a man of principle will stand his ground long after he knows he's been shown his mistake."
Jacob frowned; that didn't make any sense. Patiently he said, "I understand you may have fondness for them -- and I suppose some of them are really not bad people…"
"The Master ate with such," the old man interrupted softly, his eyes not there for a moment, fixed on something from another time and place. "He ate with us, and we are not exactly the cream of society either."
"What the Master may or may not have done is really not the issue. The issue is what you are doing, Rabbi. You come to share the word of the Lord, to tell us of promises kept and prophecies fulfilled -- and yet you invite them to hear the word with us." The old man sighed again and carefully began pulling the net off the rude wooden frame as Jacob pressed his point. "It's just not correct. The Master sprang from us, Rabbi -- a son of Israel. Surely you can't believe that he would have wanted you to take his words and… and scatter them before Gentiles, like so many precious jewels before swine. It's wrong -- it makes no sense."
"I see." The rabbi finished taking the net off the frame, tucked it under one arm, and started to walk toward the waterline. Jacob looked after him for a moment, his mouth working in silent consternation, then set off to follow him, stepping briskly for a couple of paces to catch up. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the old man spoke first. "Have you always lived by the sea, son?"
"What? I--" He shook his head as though to clear it from a fog. "Yes. Yes, I've lived here all my life."
They were at the water's edge now. The old man looked out at the broad, flat blue of the sea, where sunlight danced like diamonds across the low, steady swell. Without looking at the young man sent to reason with him, he said, "Did you know there are dozens of kinds of fish in the sea?"
"Yes, of course…" Jacob began impatiently.
"Of course. Musht, biny, sardine -- it takes all kinds to fill the sea." As he spoke, he took the net out from under his arm and stepped forward so the water lapped at his ankles. With ease born of long practice -- Lord, how many decades did I spend fishing this sea for practice? -- he cast the net into the water and watched it sink beneath the sparkling surface. "Think of this sea as the world," he said quietly. "The grace of our Lord and Savior falls upon it like that net falls upon the sea."
"I don't --" Jacob began again.
The old man stepped farther out, up to his knees now, and gathered in the net. A knot of fish squirmed in the center, scales shining in the sun, and he held the net up high so the young man could see as he pointed to different parts of the knot. "There's a biny, and another one, and there's a musht, and a sardine, and another biny…" He met Jacob's eyes, and held them with his own. "Now, I have a taste for biny, and I may only want biny -- but the net doesn't care, it catches up all kind of fish… just as the Master's grace and love catches up all kind of people."
"Men are not fish, Rabbi."
"Nor are they gods, son. If we seek to exclude others from the word of God, if we try to limit the gift of grace based on who they are, then it seems to me that we are trying to make God in our image, rather than being content that we are made in his." He spread his hands, one grasping the net, the other empty. "I am just a simple fisherman, young man -- not a god. It is not my place to pick and choose whom God will bless. Is it yours?"
Jacob stared at the old fisherman, standing there knee-deep in the waters of Galilee. Finally, he turned wordlessly and walked back to town, trying to make sense of nets and fish and grace as he walked.
He was still trying when he reported back to the elders.
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children, and works in the IT department at a major public safety testing organization.
All Nature Sings
by Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 98
Jordan tooted away on the little flute Grandpa had whittled for her from a willow twig. Actually she was doing quite well, sounding out a tune.
"You make up that tune yourself?" asked Grandpa.
"Sorta," said Jordan. "I think it's a tune I learned in Sunday school. I'm just trying to get it to come out of the flute."
Grandpa laughed and tousled her hair.
"Don't!" she said, and ducked away from his hand. She hated having her hair tousled.
"You're doing pretty well," he said.
They walked along the seashore on the beach for a while. This was one of her favorite things to do when she visited her grandparents. Not swimming -- the water was too rough for that. Walking -- with Grandpa.
One reason she liked it was because Grandpa liked it too. Another reason was Grandpa talked to her like a grownup. Adults had such a bad habit of talking to children as if they were babies.
And they never listened. Grandpa listened. She could tell him anything. He would never laugh. Or scold. How did you learn things if you didn't ask questions?
"Grandpa," she said, thinking of another conversation where Mother called her foolish. "Can trees talk?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," he said. "I think I sometimes hear them whispering, though that may be just the breeze rustling their leaves. Why do you ask?"
"There's this poem that says the trees 'lift their leafy arms to pray.' Mother said that's just poetic lies."
"Poetic license," corrected Grandpa. "That means you can say things in poetry that are a little exaggerated -- or odd. You know, like some of Dr. Seuss' books."
Jordan laughed. "He does say some pretty odd things, like green eggs. So, does that mean trees don't talk?"
Grandpa found a rock high enough for him to sit comfortably. Jordan knew that signaled that they were about to talk. She sat in the sand at his feet.
"You remember how the movie The Sound of Music began?"
"Yeah," said Jordan. "Julie Andrews began by singing, 'The hills are alive with music.' "
"Listen," said Grandpa. "Listen."
They sat quietly, listening.
After a while, Grandpa asked, "What did you hear?"
"I heard the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. I heard birds singing. I heard the wind whistling through some rocks."
"You sure that was the breeze rustling the leaves? I think I heard the trees whispering, 'Praise be to God. Praise be to God.' The birds joined in, saying, 'Praises. Praises. Praises.' Then the sea roared, 'Glory to God in the highest.' Keeping rhythm with the chorus were the waves, clapping their hands."
"How did you hear all that?" asked Jordan in awe.
"I had an advantage," admitted Grandpa. "I've listened to nature praise God before. And I've read my Bible."
"Your Bible?"
"Yeah. The Psalms talk all the time about nature praising God. You take Psalm 98, for example. It says Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it. Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy."
"Grandpa," squealed Jordan, "that's just what you got through saying."
"Humph," he grunted. "Told you I had an advantage. Now you listen and see what you hear."
Once more they sat quietly, listening.
Larry Winebrenner is a retired pastor and college teacher who lives in Miami Gardens, Florida.
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StoryShare, May 17, 2009, issue.
Copyright 2009 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
