Seeing Angels At Work
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Seeing Angels at Work" by Peter Andrew Smith
"You Don't Get It" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * *
Seeing Angels at Work
by Peter Andrew Smith
Genesis 28:10-19a
Violet looked at her watch. "She is late."
"His teacher said she would be along shortly," John replied.
Violet tapped her foot. "I suspect she is going to be all defensive about how none of this is her fault."
"We both know that our son is a handful," John said.
"Don't take her side."
He held up his hands. "I'm not taking anyone's side but it isn't any surprise that we were called in to see her. Tommy's behaviour is getting worse each year."
"I know." Violet slumped down in her chair. "I know."
John looked around the room and noticed an old bookcase along the back wall. He went over to it and ran his fingers along the top and smiled as he touched two letters carved in the wood.
Violet stood up. "What's the matter?"
"I wasn't sure but I thought things looked familiar. This was my classroom when I was in Grade Five."
"I thought you grew up in the other end of the city."
"We lived here before we moved to North Street." John smiled. "I can remember the day I carved my initials on this bookcase. Mrs. Brule made me stay after school because I was acting out. I was furious."
"Really?"
John nodded. "If you asked me at the time I would have told you I hated school. The truth is that it was all my mother could do to get me here each day. I got into a lot of trouble."
"Seems like the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Violet sat back down in her chair.
"My mom spent a lot of time in this room. I think Mrs. Brule had me stay after school most days."
"So how is that a good memory all these years later?"
"Because I can see it from a different perspective now. Honestly, I'm thankful for all those times I was kept after school."
"The school couldn't handle you and you are grateful? For heaven's sake, why?"
"Because looking back I think it was one of the things that saved me from getting into worse trouble." He shivered.
"John, you're a pastor and one of the finest Christians I have ever met." Violet tilted her head to one side. "How much trouble could you have gotten into as a boy?"
"Ask my mother sometime if you have a couple of hours. This neighbourhood was rough back then. I wanted into everything that was going on. I think it is a miracle that I didn't end up running with one of the gangs." John rubbed his forehead. "I don't know if I would be alive today if it hadn't been for mom and Mrs. Brule not giving up on me."
Violet looked at her husband for a moment. "You were on that bad a path?"
"Even as a boy I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. Or at least I would have if Mrs. Brule hadn't kept me in after school." John looked back at the bookcase. "You know the day I carved those letters Mrs. Brule made me do a report on Rev. Martin Luther King."
"Why?"
"She wanted me to see that a man could change the world without violence and anger." John rubbed his chin. "I think that was the day things started to change for me."
"Really?" Violet said. "I wish we could get to one of those days with Tommy."
John sat down beside her. "I hear you. He has been a handful."
"So what are we going to do about him?"
"That's what we are here to talk to his teacher about."
"I know that but how do we help him the way you were helped?"
John slowly looked over the room and thought about the hours he spent there with Mrs. Brule. He considered all the time his mother had spent with him and prayed for him. He turned to his wife. "We're going to have to realize there is no easy way to get Tommy back on the right path. We're going to have to work hard at this."
She sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."
John took her hand in his. "And we're going to have to remember that God is in this place."
Violet looked around. "You really think so?"
John nodded. "Given my history I know so. Tommy's teacher wouldn't have called us in here if she didn't care and I think maybe we forget too often how much God works through the people we see every day."
John and Violet sat together holding hands in silence until Tommy's teacher entered the room. Then they began to work together to make a real change happen in the life of their son confident that they were not alone in the work that lay before them.
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.
You Don't Get It
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
I've been telling stories since I was a kid. But at a rather young age I discovered storytelling involves a lot more than recounting events. Good storytelling sucks in the listener with vivid accounts that are detailed and specific, grounded in the listeners' lives. It keeps them involved with recurring themes, symbols, and words that show up and weave the whole thing together. It does not seek to answer all the questions raised, but leaves many themes hanging in tension, as life does. I was told on more than one occasion that wisdom does not reside in answers but in questions.
That one bothered me. People want answers. Information is the byword of our culture. Mystery has no place on the 6 o'clock news or on twitter. We are a scientific, technological, materialistic bunch. To leave things hanging, to have questions raised and not provide answers is to call into question our authority as someone who knows what we are talking about. Why would people waste their time listening to us if we present analogies and pregnant situations without explaining them and delivering the children of specific meaning?
Stories are not for providing information or answering questions. They are to present the frameworks of our living, living structures with life and breath and laughter and tears. They provide "a willing suspension of disbelief..." as Samuel Taylor Coleridge said. They incarnate our struggles and the victories and defeats, lifting them to a level of shared experience so that we can see them in the light of our communal hopes and fears, defeats and dreams. Information leads us to an end, a fact that is finished, unless it invites us to another question. A story incarnates our questions and provides new ways of perceiving the world that surrounds us and the relationships that lead us beyond ourselves.
Whenever there is an account of Jesus going back over one of his parables, nailing down the meanings for this or that within the story that he offered, I wince. I do not waste my time following scholars down the rabbit holes of trying to figure out exactly what our lord "really" said. Scripture is there for us to open the living word of God today for us right now. It is not some bone or pottery shard to be tested and argued over. Now I love a good discussion of the words and the Word. I'll go so far as to debate this or that jot or tittle and the cultural sources of oral traditions and the editing that went into the manuscripts we have. After all, I am a Bible geek. But the Word is not a debate, it is a story. It is an ongoing question, incarnate in the flesh of down-to-earth people like you and me. The Holy Spirit is using whatever is there to get at me, right here, right now.
I know that Jesus was a good storyteller. I know that as such when he was asked to explain his parables, as a storyteller and a teacher, he would respond with nothing less than a question, a question that took into account the insecurity of the asker, a question that would call them to confront their intense desire to be right and to control the situation with the right answer. He would throw it back on them, making them wrestle with the same issues that the people of God have been wrestling with since Jacob wrestled on the bank of the River Jabbok. Jesus would ask them, "What do you think it means?" and Jesus would resist the urge to tell them they were wrong when they came up with their bone-headed theories and cul-de-sac answers. He would engage them and ask them another question until it was time to tell another story.
I guess Matthew was worried about people not getting it. That teaches me to calm down and trust in the Lord. As he told us in one of those strange stories, "A sower went out to sow... and it yielded, some a hundredfold." I'll put up with those results. He did.
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, July 20, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Seeing Angels at Work" by Peter Andrew Smith
"You Don't Get It" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * *
Seeing Angels at Work
by Peter Andrew Smith
Genesis 28:10-19a
Violet looked at her watch. "She is late."
"His teacher said she would be along shortly," John replied.
Violet tapped her foot. "I suspect she is going to be all defensive about how none of this is her fault."
"We both know that our son is a handful," John said.
"Don't take her side."
He held up his hands. "I'm not taking anyone's side but it isn't any surprise that we were called in to see her. Tommy's behaviour is getting worse each year."
"I know." Violet slumped down in her chair. "I know."
John looked around the room and noticed an old bookcase along the back wall. He went over to it and ran his fingers along the top and smiled as he touched two letters carved in the wood.
Violet stood up. "What's the matter?"
"I wasn't sure but I thought things looked familiar. This was my classroom when I was in Grade Five."
"I thought you grew up in the other end of the city."
"We lived here before we moved to North Street." John smiled. "I can remember the day I carved my initials on this bookcase. Mrs. Brule made me stay after school because I was acting out. I was furious."
"Really?"
John nodded. "If you asked me at the time I would have told you I hated school. The truth is that it was all my mother could do to get me here each day. I got into a lot of trouble."
"Seems like the apple didn't fall far from the tree." Violet sat back down in her chair.
"My mom spent a lot of time in this room. I think Mrs. Brule had me stay after school most days."
"So how is that a good memory all these years later?"
"Because I can see it from a different perspective now. Honestly, I'm thankful for all those times I was kept after school."
"The school couldn't handle you and you are grateful? For heaven's sake, why?"
"Because looking back I think it was one of the things that saved me from getting into worse trouble." He shivered.
"John, you're a pastor and one of the finest Christians I have ever met." Violet tilted her head to one side. "How much trouble could you have gotten into as a boy?"
"Ask my mother sometime if you have a couple of hours. This neighbourhood was rough back then. I wanted into everything that was going on. I think it is a miracle that I didn't end up running with one of the gangs." John rubbed his forehead. "I don't know if I would be alive today if it hadn't been for mom and Mrs. Brule not giving up on me."
Violet looked at her husband for a moment. "You were on that bad a path?"
"Even as a boy I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. Or at least I would have if Mrs. Brule hadn't kept me in after school." John looked back at the bookcase. "You know the day I carved those letters Mrs. Brule made me do a report on Rev. Martin Luther King."
"Why?"
"She wanted me to see that a man could change the world without violence and anger." John rubbed his chin. "I think that was the day things started to change for me."
"Really?" Violet said. "I wish we could get to one of those days with Tommy."
John sat down beside her. "I hear you. He has been a handful."
"So what are we going to do about him?"
"That's what we are here to talk to his teacher about."
"I know that but how do we help him the way you were helped?"
John slowly looked over the room and thought about the hours he spent there with Mrs. Brule. He considered all the time his mother had spent with him and prayed for him. He turned to his wife. "We're going to have to realize there is no easy way to get Tommy back on the right path. We're going to have to work hard at this."
She sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."
John took her hand in his. "And we're going to have to remember that God is in this place."
Violet looked around. "You really think so?"
John nodded. "Given my history I know so. Tommy's teacher wouldn't have called us in here if she didn't care and I think maybe we forget too often how much God works through the people we see every day."
John and Violet sat together holding hands in silence until Tommy's teacher entered the room. Then they began to work together to make a real change happen in the life of their son confident that they were not alone in the work that lay before them.
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.
You Don't Get It
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
I've been telling stories since I was a kid. But at a rather young age I discovered storytelling involves a lot more than recounting events. Good storytelling sucks in the listener with vivid accounts that are detailed and specific, grounded in the listeners' lives. It keeps them involved with recurring themes, symbols, and words that show up and weave the whole thing together. It does not seek to answer all the questions raised, but leaves many themes hanging in tension, as life does. I was told on more than one occasion that wisdom does not reside in answers but in questions.
That one bothered me. People want answers. Information is the byword of our culture. Mystery has no place on the 6 o'clock news or on twitter. We are a scientific, technological, materialistic bunch. To leave things hanging, to have questions raised and not provide answers is to call into question our authority as someone who knows what we are talking about. Why would people waste their time listening to us if we present analogies and pregnant situations without explaining them and delivering the children of specific meaning?
Stories are not for providing information or answering questions. They are to present the frameworks of our living, living structures with life and breath and laughter and tears. They provide "a willing suspension of disbelief..." as Samuel Taylor Coleridge said. They incarnate our struggles and the victories and defeats, lifting them to a level of shared experience so that we can see them in the light of our communal hopes and fears, defeats and dreams. Information leads us to an end, a fact that is finished, unless it invites us to another question. A story incarnates our questions and provides new ways of perceiving the world that surrounds us and the relationships that lead us beyond ourselves.
Whenever there is an account of Jesus going back over one of his parables, nailing down the meanings for this or that within the story that he offered, I wince. I do not waste my time following scholars down the rabbit holes of trying to figure out exactly what our lord "really" said. Scripture is there for us to open the living word of God today for us right now. It is not some bone or pottery shard to be tested and argued over. Now I love a good discussion of the words and the Word. I'll go so far as to debate this or that jot or tittle and the cultural sources of oral traditions and the editing that went into the manuscripts we have. After all, I am a Bible geek. But the Word is not a debate, it is a story. It is an ongoing question, incarnate in the flesh of down-to-earth people like you and me. The Holy Spirit is using whatever is there to get at me, right here, right now.
I know that Jesus was a good storyteller. I know that as such when he was asked to explain his parables, as a storyteller and a teacher, he would respond with nothing less than a question, a question that took into account the insecurity of the asker, a question that would call them to confront their intense desire to be right and to control the situation with the right answer. He would throw it back on them, making them wrestle with the same issues that the people of God have been wrestling with since Jacob wrestled on the bank of the River Jabbok. Jesus would ask them, "What do you think it means?" and Jesus would resist the urge to tell them they were wrong when they came up with their bone-headed theories and cul-de-sac answers. He would engage them and ask them another question until it was time to tell another story.
I guess Matthew was worried about people not getting it. That teaches me to calm down and trust in the Lord. As he told us in one of those strange stories, "A sower went out to sow... and it yielded, some a hundredfold." I'll put up with those results. He did.
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, July 20, 2014, issue.
Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
