Senior Highs Aren't Dumb
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Senior Highs Aren't Dumb" by C. David McKirachan
"What's a Goy?" by C. David McKirachan
"God Has Dealt Wondrously" by Rod C. Perry
What's Up This Week
The things we can be thankful for are many and varied, as this week's edition of StoryShare reminds us. David McKirachan celebrates a song that unexpectedly clicked with his senior high youth group because it embodied their experience together… and he shares about how an offhand remark by a childhood friend opened the doorway to better understanding faith -- both of the Jewish and the Christian variety. Meanwhile, John Sumwalt shares a "really happened" story written by his brother-in-law, Rod Perry. It's one of those miracle stories that will give you chills, and is too good not to share. We can be thankful because God does amazing things among us all the time.
* * * * * * * * *
Senior Highs Aren't Dumb
by C. David McKirachan
Psalm 126
I ran youth groups for years. That's sort of like saying I was part of a mental ward for a long time. I have no suggestions on how to do what I did -- what I planned and what the groups became had very little to do with each other. I hear people talk about how much fun youth ministry is, and I wonder about them. Intense, yes; wild, yes; periodically incredibly rewarding, for sure. But fun? I often think that running the rapids on the Colorado River -- you know, the ones that go through the Grand Canyon -- would be an appropriate analogy. Whew.
In one incarnation of my senior high groups I found an old hymn, a real thumper. They called it "Over and Over…" It loosely followed Psalm 126, and it sounded more appropriate when sung with an Appalachian twang. I expected them to sing it once or twice and get tired of it. Most songs went that route. It was an ongoing process, finding new fodder for the mill of their preferences. But from the first night when we sang it they ate it up. On the chorus, they rocked the basement room where we hid from the civilized world. We called it the catacombs, subversive teaching at its best. With the low ceiling and the cement floors and walls, we simulated the volume of Led Zeppelin: "Over and over and deeper and deeper my heart is pierced through with life's sorrowing cry. But the tears of the sower and the songs of the reaper shall gather their grain in the sweet by and by."
They wanted to keep singing, and then they wanted to sing it next week. We sang it through the year and through the mission project and in worship when we led. They danced around, gathering the grain of salvation. Finally, mystified, I asked them, "Why? Of all the songs I came up with, why this one?"
Their answer was simple. It reminded them of youth group. It reminded them of talking about stuff that was uncomfortable. It reminded them of crying on retreats. It reminded them of mission projects. It reminded them of holding hands to say grace in parking lots and restaurants or wherever we happened to be when we were traveling. It reminded them of the home we'd built in the catacombs and on the road and all the other places we went. It reminded them of home. And then they hit me between the eyes -- "Didn't you mean it to do that?"
See what I mean? I can't lose for winning. They're always one or seven steps ahead of me. Happy Thanksgiving.
What's a Goy?
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 6:25-33
I had two friends. They were next-door neighbors. They were nice guys, brothers -- one a year older, one a year younger. They were the first Jewish people I ever knew. I'd met some people who went to temple instead of church. "What's that, Dad?" The explanations that followed had always included mentions of the Old Testament and Abraham and the phrase "chosen people." Okay, okay. But I'd never known a Jewish person as a person. So we got to know each other, as 10 year olds do.
What I didn't realize was that they were getting to know me too. One day we were sitting in the tree behind Mrs. Kator's house. It was a maple. We were about halfway up, legs dangling. "You don't seem like a goy." I'd never heard the word before. Barry, my older friend with his legs dangling, couldn't really tell me what it meant. Bobby, the younger brother, joined the discussion and helped to get it nailed down somewhere between slob and barbarian. As with any other conversation between 10 year old, we rapidly transposed to bird wings and baseballs. But the business about "goy" stuck.
"What's a goy, Dad?" That stopped him, mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. The maple conversation was quoted. Prejudice directed at his children was not something he took lightly, but he recognized the veiled compliment for what it was. The conversation migrated into the living room. He gave me a lesson in prejudice and ugly divisions. He opened the Bible and read this passage from Matthew to me. He told me the word "goy" was an ugly way of saying the nicer ugly word "gentile."
He told me the reason my buddies had said this to me was because they not only liked me but respected me. Those two conversations, in the maple and beside the fireplace, have always guided me. When it comes to making a decision about recycling or helping the poor or practicing the piano or sitting in front of the TV, I remember them. Would Barry and Bobby consider this "goy" behavior?
We are called to remember that we are chosen. We are called to appreciate the gift. We are called to be something better than slobs or barbarians, wasting the opportunities we're given or forgetting the least of these. We are called to be Blessed.
I went to Hebrew school with them, the brothers in the tree. The rabbi told my parents I was one of his favorite students. Were they sure they didn't want me to be bar mitzvahed? My father left it up to me. I'm often amazed at them. They probably held their breath while I thought about it. But I liked the music in our church better, and Christmas. Don't forget Christmas.
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).
God Has Dealt Wondrously
by Rod C. Perry
Joel 2:21-27
You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.
-- Joel 2:26
My neighbor Dan and his wife Lynda have lived next door for quite a few years now, and they have been the kind of neighbors you wonder how you will do without someday. After all, no one lives forever -- and at the very least, one or the other of us is bound to move eventually.
Now retired from the local police force, Dan has been a very good neighbor and friend from the beginning. He and I got into trouble together early on when we decided to move the lilac bushes from my side yard to the back corner of our lot. My wife Helen seemed to take offense to the idea from the get-go, and when the beautiful deep purple lilacs failed to bloom for several years, we were reminded of the incident several times annually.
What constitutes a good neighbor? He's the guy who will loan you one of his yard tools… gives you something you really should be buying at one of his frequent yard sales… kills all his dandelions and has his yard treated monthly so it looks ten times better than yours… and always has an extra ice-cold Diet Coke in the cooler, along with a comfortable chair for your seat at the "driveway gab" frequently held right outside his backdoor and not very far from yours. He's the guy who comes to look at the wild opossum that has taken up residence in your backyard shed… then helps you get rid of it before anyone gets bit. He's the one always willing to lend a hand in any backyard project… or to just throw in an idea or two on how it might be done. He's the one at the foot of your 20-foot ladder, holding it so you won't slip and fall while you chop ice off your roof because an ice dam has caused a leak in your bedroom at 7 o'clock on Christmas morning when it is 25 degrees below zero. That is a good neighbor!
So there was a feeling of great despair a few years back when I was out working on my new deck project and Dan strolled over to chat. He looked a little "peaked" as he said, "I guess I've got a little bout with colon cancer." What can you say? He'd just had a colonoscopy, and they had found an apparently self-contained and isolated growth in his lower intestine. It was removed with surgery and no other cancer evidence was found… no other treatment would be needed. We were all very happy for them and their family. Dan had undergone the colonoscopy at the urging of another friend, Tom, who told him it could save his life. Well, it did -- because he had been symptom-free, and doctors felt that by the time symptoms would have surfaced his prognosis would have been much less positive. Dan was so elated by the result of his surgery and the support he received from the community that he placed an advertisement in the local Shopper urging everyone to get a colonoscopy. I did, a couple months later. Mine was fine.
Now, a couple years later in spring 2009, I was out on my deck putting together my new gas grill when Dan strolled over with that same "peaked" look… and said, "My cancer is back. They found a spot on my lung and two in my liver." Again the gut-wrench. Surgery was out because of the dual location of tumors. He told us he would have chemotherapy, but he and his wife were about to leave on an Alaskan tour they had been planning for months, and they decided to go ahead with it.
So Dan's summer was consumed by the first four of eight planned chemo treatments, given every other Tuesday and followed by a portable unit he would wear for 48 hours after the chemo session, which would pour more of the stuff into his system. Each session became harder to bear as the stuff took its toll on his system. Then in August, again I was on my deck when Dan shouted over that he had a heart attack while hunting turkey with his grandson Chris. Thank God, it was a mild attack and there was no apparent damage, but it was another scare.
Apparently bad news arrives only at the deck! We were about to enter our car in the driveway one afternoon when Lynda, working in one of her many flower gardens, said: "Good news! Dan had a CT scan and the two tumors in his liver have decreased by over 30%!" Finally some encouraging news… some hope to cling to.
After completion of the first four chemo sessions, the doctors decided they'd like to do a different kind of scan on Dan… a PET scan, which gives a different look at things. Dan's blood glucose was a little too high that week (like me, he is a type 2 diabetic)… so he got it down to the prescribed level so the test could be made. Their concern was the lung tumor, which had not responded to the chemo. If it were a false indication and not really cancer, then surgery would become an option to remove the spots in his liver.
Dan came knocking at our backdoor one afternoon as I sat sprawled out in my recliner under my cheesehead throw with a heating pad in my lap, trying to recover from my bout with H1N1 and pneumonia. Dan sat on our couch and told us that he had just returned from getting the report on his PET scan. "My cancer is completely gone!" he said. "They have never seen anything like it. The oncologist cannot believe it. It has just vanished, and they don't know why." The doctors told him this just does not happen!
The doctors don't know why his cancer is gone, but Dan does. He hadn't even told Lynda until they were in the doctor's office that day. "The night before the PET scan," he said, "I awoke from a dream. In the dream, which I remember vividly, a strong voice said to me, 'Dan, I am sending an angel to remove your cancer.' " As he awoke, Dan felt a kind of motion or rush, like a puff of air blowing across him. That was it -- very short and to the point! But he did not forget the dream!
Dan's doctors advised him that he could take the rest of his four chemo treatments or not, as he saw fit. He will probably take them… but he's pretty sure he doesn't need them!
Rod C. Perry is a popular broadcaster and storyteller. He is a member of St. Mary's Catholic Church in Richland Center, Wisconsin.
**************
StoryShare, November 26, 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
What's Up This Week
"Senior Highs Aren't Dumb" by C. David McKirachan
"What's a Goy?" by C. David McKirachan
"God Has Dealt Wondrously" by Rod C. Perry
What's Up This Week
The things we can be thankful for are many and varied, as this week's edition of StoryShare reminds us. David McKirachan celebrates a song that unexpectedly clicked with his senior high youth group because it embodied their experience together… and he shares about how an offhand remark by a childhood friend opened the doorway to better understanding faith -- both of the Jewish and the Christian variety. Meanwhile, John Sumwalt shares a "really happened" story written by his brother-in-law, Rod Perry. It's one of those miracle stories that will give you chills, and is too good not to share. We can be thankful because God does amazing things among us all the time.
* * * * * * * * *
Senior Highs Aren't Dumb
by C. David McKirachan
Psalm 126
I ran youth groups for years. That's sort of like saying I was part of a mental ward for a long time. I have no suggestions on how to do what I did -- what I planned and what the groups became had very little to do with each other. I hear people talk about how much fun youth ministry is, and I wonder about them. Intense, yes; wild, yes; periodically incredibly rewarding, for sure. But fun? I often think that running the rapids on the Colorado River -- you know, the ones that go through the Grand Canyon -- would be an appropriate analogy. Whew.
In one incarnation of my senior high groups I found an old hymn, a real thumper. They called it "Over and Over…" It loosely followed Psalm 126, and it sounded more appropriate when sung with an Appalachian twang. I expected them to sing it once or twice and get tired of it. Most songs went that route. It was an ongoing process, finding new fodder for the mill of their preferences. But from the first night when we sang it they ate it up. On the chorus, they rocked the basement room where we hid from the civilized world. We called it the catacombs, subversive teaching at its best. With the low ceiling and the cement floors and walls, we simulated the volume of Led Zeppelin: "Over and over and deeper and deeper my heart is pierced through with life's sorrowing cry. But the tears of the sower and the songs of the reaper shall gather their grain in the sweet by and by."
They wanted to keep singing, and then they wanted to sing it next week. We sang it through the year and through the mission project and in worship when we led. They danced around, gathering the grain of salvation. Finally, mystified, I asked them, "Why? Of all the songs I came up with, why this one?"
Their answer was simple. It reminded them of youth group. It reminded them of talking about stuff that was uncomfortable. It reminded them of crying on retreats. It reminded them of mission projects. It reminded them of holding hands to say grace in parking lots and restaurants or wherever we happened to be when we were traveling. It reminded them of the home we'd built in the catacombs and on the road and all the other places we went. It reminded them of home. And then they hit me between the eyes -- "Didn't you mean it to do that?"
See what I mean? I can't lose for winning. They're always one or seven steps ahead of me. Happy Thanksgiving.
What's a Goy?
by C. David McKirachan
Matthew 6:25-33
I had two friends. They were next-door neighbors. They were nice guys, brothers -- one a year older, one a year younger. They were the first Jewish people I ever knew. I'd met some people who went to temple instead of church. "What's that, Dad?" The explanations that followed had always included mentions of the Old Testament and Abraham and the phrase "chosen people." Okay, okay. But I'd never known a Jewish person as a person. So we got to know each other, as 10 year olds do.
What I didn't realize was that they were getting to know me too. One day we were sitting in the tree behind Mrs. Kator's house. It was a maple. We were about halfway up, legs dangling. "You don't seem like a goy." I'd never heard the word before. Barry, my older friend with his legs dangling, couldn't really tell me what it meant. Bobby, the younger brother, joined the discussion and helped to get it nailed down somewhere between slob and barbarian. As with any other conversation between 10 year old, we rapidly transposed to bird wings and baseballs. But the business about "goy" stuck.
"What's a goy, Dad?" That stopped him, mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. The maple conversation was quoted. Prejudice directed at his children was not something he took lightly, but he recognized the veiled compliment for what it was. The conversation migrated into the living room. He gave me a lesson in prejudice and ugly divisions. He opened the Bible and read this passage from Matthew to me. He told me the word "goy" was an ugly way of saying the nicer ugly word "gentile."
He told me the reason my buddies had said this to me was because they not only liked me but respected me. Those two conversations, in the maple and beside the fireplace, have always guided me. When it comes to making a decision about recycling or helping the poor or practicing the piano or sitting in front of the TV, I remember them. Would Barry and Bobby consider this "goy" behavior?
We are called to remember that we are chosen. We are called to appreciate the gift. We are called to be something better than slobs or barbarians, wasting the opportunities we're given or forgetting the least of these. We are called to be Blessed.
I went to Hebrew school with them, the brothers in the tree. The rabbi told my parents I was one of his favorite students. Were they sure they didn't want me to be bar mitzvahed? My father left it up to me. I'm often amazed at them. They probably held their breath while I thought about it. But I liked the music in our church better, and Christmas. Don't forget Christmas.
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).
God Has Dealt Wondrously
by Rod C. Perry
Joel 2:21-27
You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.
-- Joel 2:26
My neighbor Dan and his wife Lynda have lived next door for quite a few years now, and they have been the kind of neighbors you wonder how you will do without someday. After all, no one lives forever -- and at the very least, one or the other of us is bound to move eventually.
Now retired from the local police force, Dan has been a very good neighbor and friend from the beginning. He and I got into trouble together early on when we decided to move the lilac bushes from my side yard to the back corner of our lot. My wife Helen seemed to take offense to the idea from the get-go, and when the beautiful deep purple lilacs failed to bloom for several years, we were reminded of the incident several times annually.
What constitutes a good neighbor? He's the guy who will loan you one of his yard tools… gives you something you really should be buying at one of his frequent yard sales… kills all his dandelions and has his yard treated monthly so it looks ten times better than yours… and always has an extra ice-cold Diet Coke in the cooler, along with a comfortable chair for your seat at the "driveway gab" frequently held right outside his backdoor and not very far from yours. He's the guy who comes to look at the wild opossum that has taken up residence in your backyard shed… then helps you get rid of it before anyone gets bit. He's the one always willing to lend a hand in any backyard project… or to just throw in an idea or two on how it might be done. He's the one at the foot of your 20-foot ladder, holding it so you won't slip and fall while you chop ice off your roof because an ice dam has caused a leak in your bedroom at 7 o'clock on Christmas morning when it is 25 degrees below zero. That is a good neighbor!
So there was a feeling of great despair a few years back when I was out working on my new deck project and Dan strolled over to chat. He looked a little "peaked" as he said, "I guess I've got a little bout with colon cancer." What can you say? He'd just had a colonoscopy, and they had found an apparently self-contained and isolated growth in his lower intestine. It was removed with surgery and no other cancer evidence was found… no other treatment would be needed. We were all very happy for them and their family. Dan had undergone the colonoscopy at the urging of another friend, Tom, who told him it could save his life. Well, it did -- because he had been symptom-free, and doctors felt that by the time symptoms would have surfaced his prognosis would have been much less positive. Dan was so elated by the result of his surgery and the support he received from the community that he placed an advertisement in the local Shopper urging everyone to get a colonoscopy. I did, a couple months later. Mine was fine.
Now, a couple years later in spring 2009, I was out on my deck putting together my new gas grill when Dan strolled over with that same "peaked" look… and said, "My cancer is back. They found a spot on my lung and two in my liver." Again the gut-wrench. Surgery was out because of the dual location of tumors. He told us he would have chemotherapy, but he and his wife were about to leave on an Alaskan tour they had been planning for months, and they decided to go ahead with it.
So Dan's summer was consumed by the first four of eight planned chemo treatments, given every other Tuesday and followed by a portable unit he would wear for 48 hours after the chemo session, which would pour more of the stuff into his system. Each session became harder to bear as the stuff took its toll on his system. Then in August, again I was on my deck when Dan shouted over that he had a heart attack while hunting turkey with his grandson Chris. Thank God, it was a mild attack and there was no apparent damage, but it was another scare.
Apparently bad news arrives only at the deck! We were about to enter our car in the driveway one afternoon when Lynda, working in one of her many flower gardens, said: "Good news! Dan had a CT scan and the two tumors in his liver have decreased by over 30%!" Finally some encouraging news… some hope to cling to.
After completion of the first four chemo sessions, the doctors decided they'd like to do a different kind of scan on Dan… a PET scan, which gives a different look at things. Dan's blood glucose was a little too high that week (like me, he is a type 2 diabetic)… so he got it down to the prescribed level so the test could be made. Their concern was the lung tumor, which had not responded to the chemo. If it were a false indication and not really cancer, then surgery would become an option to remove the spots in his liver.
Dan came knocking at our backdoor one afternoon as I sat sprawled out in my recliner under my cheesehead throw with a heating pad in my lap, trying to recover from my bout with H1N1 and pneumonia. Dan sat on our couch and told us that he had just returned from getting the report on his PET scan. "My cancer is completely gone!" he said. "They have never seen anything like it. The oncologist cannot believe it. It has just vanished, and they don't know why." The doctors told him this just does not happen!
The doctors don't know why his cancer is gone, but Dan does. He hadn't even told Lynda until they were in the doctor's office that day. "The night before the PET scan," he said, "I awoke from a dream. In the dream, which I remember vividly, a strong voice said to me, 'Dan, I am sending an angel to remove your cancer.' " As he awoke, Dan felt a kind of motion or rush, like a puff of air blowing across him. That was it -- very short and to the point! But he did not forget the dream!
Dan's doctors advised him that he could take the rest of his four chemo treatments or not, as he saw fit. He will probably take them… but he's pretty sure he doesn't need them!
Rod C. Perry is a popular broadcaster and storyteller. He is a member of St. Mary's Catholic Church in Richland Center, Wisconsin.
**************
StoryShare, November 26, 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
