Safe And Found
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Safe and Found" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Our Little Church" by C. David McKirachan
"Where Were You?" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
Safe and Found
by Peter Andrew Smith
Ezekiel 34:1-16, 20-24
Lindsay let the light from the hallway into the room so she could watch the girls. Patty was clutching her rag doll and Stephanie had kicked the blankets off herself again.
"Is there something wrong, Mommy?" Patty whispered.
"Not at all baby," Lindsay said.
Stephanie started to get up. "Do we have to leave now?"
"No, we're going to stay here for a while." Lindsay tucked them both in.
"Good because I like it here," Stephanie said. "The people are really nice."
"They are." Lindsay kissed them both. "Now go back to sleep."
She looked back from the hallway and saw Patty's eyes staring up at her. Lindsay waited at the door until both girls were sound asleep.
Lindsay paused by the door to her room. She would just lie in bed with her mind racing and listening to every sound in the strange house. She saw a light from the little kitchen on the floor and wondered if a change of scenery and maybe a cup of something hot might help. An unfamiliar woman was sitting at the small table reading a book.
"Hello, you must be Lindsay," the woman said. "I'm Terry. Would you like a cup of something hot?"
Lindsay nodded and sat in the offered chair. "Anything that might help me sleep would be great."
Terry put another cup on the table and took the teapot from the stove. "No caffeine in this I promise. The package says it will help you to rest but I'm not sure there is anything that can take away the discomfort of sleeping in a new place. Your girls okay?"
"They're fine," Lindsay said. "You can't sleep either?"
Terry marked her page and closed the book. "I'm not supposed to sleep. I stay up so any children or mothers can talk or get help. Sometimes it is overwhelming the first few nights."
"So you're s staff person here at the shelter?"
Terry shook her head. "Volunteer. I came here to get away from my husband who liked to take out his problems with his fists. After I got settled around in a new place I started coming back once a week to help out."
"Oh."
"How's your first night going?"
"Okay I guess. I just find it hard to settle down," Lindsay shrugged. "I keep expecting we'll have to move along soon."
"They'll help you find a place when you're ready," Terry said. "They are good people here."
"Everyone has been nice to us."
"But?"
Lindsay looked down at the floor.
"You think maybe you don't deserve the help and perhaps there's a part of you that thinks what your husband or boyfriend said to you is right? That you caused the abuse?"
Lindsay stared at Terry.
"Remember I was scared and had nowhere else to go not too long ago. I know what it is like." Terry took a sip of her tea. "These people are going to help you because you need the help. That's why the church set up this shelter. Because they believe that people like you and me deserve a place where we can be safe and heal before we head out into the world."
"But why?" Lindsay asked. "I'm not a member of any church and we don't have any money."
"That doesn't matter and they won't ask for anything. They do this because of what they believe -- that we're important to God."
"I don't understand."
"Honey, the wonderful thing is that you don't have to understand," Terry said. "All you need to know is that you are safe and going to be cared for and helped. This is a safe place and a good place."
"But why?"
"Why what?"
"What do they do these things?"
"That's a better question for Pastor Sue than for me." Terry said. "You can meet her if you want. There is a chapel on the first floor that gets used for services on Sunday morning and for Bible study on Wednesday."
"I've never had much use for church people," Lindsay said.
"Would it help if I told you that Pastor Sue was like us?"
"Huh?"
"I'm not telling any tales out of school, she is very open about her past." Terry smiled. "She ended up going to a shelter herself with her little boy. That's why she helped open this house because she understands what it is like."
"Oh."
They sat drinking tea for a few moments and Lindsay found herself yawning.
"You have a good sleep," Terry said as Lindsay excused herself.
Lindsay laid down in her bed thinking about this house and the possibility of meeting a pastor who understood what she was going through. She had always assumed that God had no use for her since she was battered and abused. Yet maybe this shelter and what Terry said meant that what she thought was wrong. Maybe there was a place for God in her life. Lindsay felt a sense of calm surround her and before she knew it fell into a peaceful sleep.
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.
Our Little Church
by C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 1:15-23
Ever since I got into the ministry, people have come to me with a slight tremor in their voice and perhaps a tear in their eyes, and said something like, "Don't you just love our little church?" It's hard for me to be pastoral or understanding at such moments. Down inside me is a voice that wants to bear down on them, raise my voice, and yell, "You have no idea why you're here, do you?" But my mother taught me to be nice, even to people who were wrong, perhaps especially to people who are wrong.
Down through the centuries the church of Jesus Christ has vacillated between inappropriate extremes. On the one hand horrific militancy, validating gleeful slaughter usually reserved for moments of rabid nationalism. Confusing our faith with loyalty to a flag or a boundary is idolatry at its worst.
It's easy to preach against such militancy. Jesus was pretty specific about it. He was swimming upstream against Zionism, which diverted God's people from being a light to the nations toward being the dominator of nations. It's a short trip. And the Lord demanded they climb out of the rut of animal instinct and claim the high ground of spiritual authority. It may be easy to preach it, though it's not easy to live it.
The other inappropriate extreme lies in a more insidious direction. It takes us in the direction of cute, sweet, cuddly, all the fuzzy cousins of teddy bears and baby shoes. It confines the identity of the church militant and its reach to a comfort zone. A place where pats on the head are the rule and the thundering of prophetic truth is not only ignored but condemned as disruptive and inappropriate. It demands status quo because it disturbs fewer, whether they mean disturbing or not. It insists on pastoral visitation and fellowship groups and discourages spiritual growth and social witness.
Power is a word that tends to bulge narrow boundaries and push us toward risky edges. It opens the doors of the church to possibilities demanding uncuddly stuff like commitment, discipline, prayer, and faith. It tends to direct us toward things like evangelism, truth-telling, confrontation of idols, and solidarity with the poor.
And it has a terrible time listening to the phrase "Our little church."
Where Were You?
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 25:31-46
I was a sophomore in high school, in study hall, sitting in the dining room. I had enough homework for that hour and a few more, so when the principal came on the intercom, I was bothered. We affectionately called him "Penguin." Actually, it wasn't affectionate. He walked funny. Thinking back, he did a good job. And he really tried to relate to us. Times they were a-changin'. What had always worked with kids just didn't any more. We were sitting on the edge of a revolution, but at this point there was a lot of head scratching on the part of adults and alienation on the part of us.
We felt like we were putting "them" in their place. We felt as if we had something on them, as if our laughter, our derision was a weapon that made us better, made us right. Thinking back about how I acted then, I'm not proud of what I thought and how I acted much of the time then. But the Penguin had no right, according to my arrogance, no right at all to interrupt my agenda. I wanted to get all this stupid American History and Trigonometry done so I could hang out with my friends and continue the giggles. How dare he interrupt me?
He was a couple sentences into his announcement when I realized his voice had overtones that I never heard from him. He was stunned, trying hard to hold it together. He told us that something was happening that we needed to hear. The radio came on, over the loud speaker. It was another adult, saying something that cut through even my teenaged arrogance. President Kennedy had been shot. It took almost a half hour to finally announce that he'd been killed.
I'll never forget where I was in that moment. I'll never forget the vulnerability I felt then. It took a long time for any of us to get over that moment. In some ways, none of us did. The world changed that day. Our innocence was torn, tattered by the winds of history. And we were humbled.
Every time I realize I've been something other than generous or kind, every time I am faced with my judgment of others, neglect of the vulnerable, or a willingness to claim a lack of responsibility for the need of another, I am a scared kid again, in study hall without a clue what the world is about and what it means to care.
Where were you?
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 20, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"Safe and Found" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Our Little Church" by C. David McKirachan
"Where Were You?" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
Safe and Found
by Peter Andrew Smith
Ezekiel 34:1-16, 20-24
Lindsay let the light from the hallway into the room so she could watch the girls. Patty was clutching her rag doll and Stephanie had kicked the blankets off herself again.
"Is there something wrong, Mommy?" Patty whispered.
"Not at all baby," Lindsay said.
Stephanie started to get up. "Do we have to leave now?"
"No, we're going to stay here for a while." Lindsay tucked them both in.
"Good because I like it here," Stephanie said. "The people are really nice."
"They are." Lindsay kissed them both. "Now go back to sleep."
She looked back from the hallway and saw Patty's eyes staring up at her. Lindsay waited at the door until both girls were sound asleep.
Lindsay paused by the door to her room. She would just lie in bed with her mind racing and listening to every sound in the strange house. She saw a light from the little kitchen on the floor and wondered if a change of scenery and maybe a cup of something hot might help. An unfamiliar woman was sitting at the small table reading a book.
"Hello, you must be Lindsay," the woman said. "I'm Terry. Would you like a cup of something hot?"
Lindsay nodded and sat in the offered chair. "Anything that might help me sleep would be great."
Terry put another cup on the table and took the teapot from the stove. "No caffeine in this I promise. The package says it will help you to rest but I'm not sure there is anything that can take away the discomfort of sleeping in a new place. Your girls okay?"
"They're fine," Lindsay said. "You can't sleep either?"
Terry marked her page and closed the book. "I'm not supposed to sleep. I stay up so any children or mothers can talk or get help. Sometimes it is overwhelming the first few nights."
"So you're s staff person here at the shelter?"
Terry shook her head. "Volunteer. I came here to get away from my husband who liked to take out his problems with his fists. After I got settled around in a new place I started coming back once a week to help out."
"Oh."
"How's your first night going?"
"Okay I guess. I just find it hard to settle down," Lindsay shrugged. "I keep expecting we'll have to move along soon."
"They'll help you find a place when you're ready," Terry said. "They are good people here."
"Everyone has been nice to us."
"But?"
Lindsay looked down at the floor.
"You think maybe you don't deserve the help and perhaps there's a part of you that thinks what your husband or boyfriend said to you is right? That you caused the abuse?"
Lindsay stared at Terry.
"Remember I was scared and had nowhere else to go not too long ago. I know what it is like." Terry took a sip of her tea. "These people are going to help you because you need the help. That's why the church set up this shelter. Because they believe that people like you and me deserve a place where we can be safe and heal before we head out into the world."
"But why?" Lindsay asked. "I'm not a member of any church and we don't have any money."
"That doesn't matter and they won't ask for anything. They do this because of what they believe -- that we're important to God."
"I don't understand."
"Honey, the wonderful thing is that you don't have to understand," Terry said. "All you need to know is that you are safe and going to be cared for and helped. This is a safe place and a good place."
"But why?"
"Why what?"
"What do they do these things?"
"That's a better question for Pastor Sue than for me." Terry said. "You can meet her if you want. There is a chapel on the first floor that gets used for services on Sunday morning and for Bible study on Wednesday."
"I've never had much use for church people," Lindsay said.
"Would it help if I told you that Pastor Sue was like us?"
"Huh?"
"I'm not telling any tales out of school, she is very open about her past." Terry smiled. "She ended up going to a shelter herself with her little boy. That's why she helped open this house because she understands what it is like."
"Oh."
They sat drinking tea for a few moments and Lindsay found herself yawning.
"You have a good sleep," Terry said as Lindsay excused herself.
Lindsay laid down in her bed thinking about this house and the possibility of meeting a pastor who understood what she was going through. She had always assumed that God had no use for her since she was battered and abused. Yet maybe this shelter and what Terry said meant that what she thought was wrong. Maybe there was a place for God in her life. Lindsay felt a sense of calm surround her and before she knew it fell into a peaceful sleep.
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.
Our Little Church
by C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 1:15-23
Ever since I got into the ministry, people have come to me with a slight tremor in their voice and perhaps a tear in their eyes, and said something like, "Don't you just love our little church?" It's hard for me to be pastoral or understanding at such moments. Down inside me is a voice that wants to bear down on them, raise my voice, and yell, "You have no idea why you're here, do you?" But my mother taught me to be nice, even to people who were wrong, perhaps especially to people who are wrong.
Down through the centuries the church of Jesus Christ has vacillated between inappropriate extremes. On the one hand horrific militancy, validating gleeful slaughter usually reserved for moments of rabid nationalism. Confusing our faith with loyalty to a flag or a boundary is idolatry at its worst.
It's easy to preach against such militancy. Jesus was pretty specific about it. He was swimming upstream against Zionism, which diverted God's people from being a light to the nations toward being the dominator of nations. It's a short trip. And the Lord demanded they climb out of the rut of animal instinct and claim the high ground of spiritual authority. It may be easy to preach it, though it's not easy to live it.
The other inappropriate extreme lies in a more insidious direction. It takes us in the direction of cute, sweet, cuddly, all the fuzzy cousins of teddy bears and baby shoes. It confines the identity of the church militant and its reach to a comfort zone. A place where pats on the head are the rule and the thundering of prophetic truth is not only ignored but condemned as disruptive and inappropriate. It demands status quo because it disturbs fewer, whether they mean disturbing or not. It insists on pastoral visitation and fellowship groups and discourages spiritual growth and social witness.
Power is a word that tends to bulge narrow boundaries and push us toward risky edges. It opens the doors of the church to possibilities demanding uncuddly stuff like commitment, discipline, prayer, and faith. It tends to direct us toward things like evangelism, truth-telling, confrontation of idols, and solidarity with the poor.
And it has a terrible time listening to the phrase "Our little church."
Where Were You?
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 25:31-46
I was a sophomore in high school, in study hall, sitting in the dining room. I had enough homework for that hour and a few more, so when the principal came on the intercom, I was bothered. We affectionately called him "Penguin." Actually, it wasn't affectionate. He walked funny. Thinking back, he did a good job. And he really tried to relate to us. Times they were a-changin'. What had always worked with kids just didn't any more. We were sitting on the edge of a revolution, but at this point there was a lot of head scratching on the part of adults and alienation on the part of us.
We felt like we were putting "them" in their place. We felt as if we had something on them, as if our laughter, our derision was a weapon that made us better, made us right. Thinking back about how I acted then, I'm not proud of what I thought and how I acted much of the time then. But the Penguin had no right, according to my arrogance, no right at all to interrupt my agenda. I wanted to get all this stupid American History and Trigonometry done so I could hang out with my friends and continue the giggles. How dare he interrupt me?
He was a couple sentences into his announcement when I realized his voice had overtones that I never heard from him. He was stunned, trying hard to hold it together. He told us that something was happening that we needed to hear. The radio came on, over the loud speaker. It was another adult, saying something that cut through even my teenaged arrogance. President Kennedy had been shot. It took almost a half hour to finally announce that he'd been killed.
I'll never forget where I was in that moment. I'll never forget the vulnerability I felt then. It took a long time for any of us to get over that moment. In some ways, none of us did. The world changed that day. Our innocence was torn, tattered by the winds of history. And we were humbled.
Every time I realize I've been something other than generous or kind, every time I am faced with my judgment of others, neglect of the vulnerable, or a willingness to claim a lack of responsibility for the need of another, I am a scared kid again, in study hall without a clue what the world is about and what it means to care.
Where were you?
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 20, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
