Storyshare

Contents

A Story to Live By: "Spirit Walker"
Sharing Visions: "God Searches and Knows Me" by Amy Yarnall
Good Stories: "Uncle Hilbert" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Many Gifts" by John Sumwalt


A Story to Live By

Spirit Walker

When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me..."
Luke 4:16-18a

Hank Wesselman tells in his book Spirit Walker about a young man in a primitive tribe of hunter-gatherers who is becoming a shaman. He has had some experiences of the spirit world. His mentor tells him that his life is going to be different because of this, and says to him:

"You have been called and you cannot refuse the call. Once the spirits have chosen a person to become a shaman, the invitation cannot be denied. To do so is dangerous. There is a pattern within the mystery of life of which we are all a part, and the spirits have decided that the time has come for you to become that which you are destined to be."


Sharing Visions

God Searches and Knows Me
by Amy Yarnall

O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.
Psalm 139:1-3

I began my earnest search for what I should be doing with my life after graduating from college and beginning to attend Skyline United Methodist Church with my husband, Ray. I had a degree in international relations and no idea what I was supposed to be doing in terms of a vocation. My search was rooted in my intuitive, then unnamable, conviction of the truth of Psalm 139. I knew that God searches and knows me completely. I cannot put my finger on an exact moment, but I know that somewhere in 1994, I began to pray. This was the beginning of a nearly three-year time of discernment. At first I felt foolish as I prayed. I wasn't even certain I believed in God. But still I prayed for guidance from the God who knows me completely about what it is that I am to do in life. The thought of ordained ministry had come to my mind as a child in confirmation classes. That thought of ordained ministry didn't recur until I was in this three-year time of discernment. Then, each time it occurred I would shove it aside and think, "I could never do that; I just wish I could figure out what I should be doing with my life."

I changed jobs once, and I continued to be miserable, longing for some insight, some guidance, into how it is that I am supposed to live this life which I have been given. I also continued my journey of faith. My questions which had begun "How can I believe?" shifted to "How can I not believe?" God was indeed working within me, giving me the most precious gift I have ever, and will ever, receive: the gift of faith. Perhaps one of my greatest fears is the thought of once again facing that horrible doubt with which I wrestled. I am comforted that if and when I come to another desert like that in my life, I will be armed with the spiritual disciplines to survive the desert, like meditating on Psalm 139 and other passages of scripture. (But it is not something to which I would look forward -- not that anyone would!)

I did bible study, served in the church and in mission outreach, and through this was opened to God's call upon my life. When I was driving home on a Friday night in January of 1997, I was in a driving trance, praying again about what God wanted me to be doing in life. I felt so weary, and I was praying "surely this is not what you intend for my life." Then I had this image of my pastor serving communion at church, and what I call a "God-thought" entered my mind. It was, "You need to hurry up and follow your calling while you are young." I snapped out of my trance and wondered what exactly had just happened. I decided to sleep on it, and then discussed it with my husband and our mutual friend Susan, who was staying with us for the weekend. They were extremely affirming of the idea of me going into ordained ministry. So I made an appointment with my pastor and told her about my experience. She was also very affirming and encouraging. As I continued the journey, meeting with the District Committee, applying to seminary, and all of the other steps in the process that year, I still wrestled with doubt. So my calling has a second part to it. I heard God speaking to me another time, this time through a saint of the Skyline church named Bunky Dankle. I arrived at church for a mid-week Lenten reflection and communion service and saw Bunky sitting alone. Her husband had recently died, so I went and took a seat beside her. We talked and visited for a while, and then the worship service began. Throughout the service, I was distracted as I doubted and wondered whether I could really be a pastor. All I remember about the actual worship service is my pastor breaking the bread and holding up the cup. Then, at the end of the service, Bunky turned to me, took my hand into both of hers, and with tears in her eyes, she said, "Thank you for sharing your love."

Amy Yarnall is Pastor of Summit United Methodist Church in Middletown, Delaware. She is married and was blessed with her first child in April of 2002. Write to her at 4725 Weatherhill Drive, Wilmington, DE 19808. E-mail: ashipster@aol.com


Good Stories

Uncle Hilbert
by John Sumwalt

...the decrees of the Lord are sure, making wise the simple.
Psalm 19:7b

But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.
1 Corinthians 12:24b-25

Uncle Hilbert used to stand at the front door of the church every Sunday morning and greet everyone as they came into worship. He always had a big smile on his face as he called all of us by name, and he had a special handshake for us kids. It was a rare day when he wasn't there, and when he was absent church wasn't the same. You had the feeling that something essential was missing.

I don't know why we called him Uncle. He was nobody's uncle as far as I know. He had a couple of married sisters who lived in the city, but neither of them had any kids. The little kids called him Hilly, but to everyone else he was Uncle Hilbert, or just plain Uncle. "Good morning, Uncle," Mr. Tolbert would say when Hilbert stopped in at the grocery store each morning after walking with us kids to school. He had regular rounds that he made every day. He would meet us at the corner at 7:30 a.m. and walk with us as far as the playground; then he would stop at the store, visit with Mr. Tolbert for a while, and buy some candy or a pop; then he would head over to the feed mill to watch them grind corn and oats. Sometimes one of the men would let him ride along on the truck while he made a delivery to one of the farms outside of town. Just before noon, about the time the curd was beginning to set, you would find Hilbert over at the cheese factory. They always gave him a white hat and let him watch as they cut up the curd. When they were done, Mr. Sweeney would give him a bagful to take home to his mother so they could have fresh curd for lunch.

In the afternoons Hilbert would get out his bike. For some reason his mother wouldn't let him ride it in the mornings. It was a beautiful red and white Schwinn with headlights, reflectors, rear-view mirror, side baskets, an oompah horn, a license plate that said "Green Bay Packer Backer," and long bushy squirrel tails dangling from each handlebar. It was the envy of every kid in town. Hilbert used to let us ride it sometimes on the way home from school, until his mother found out, and then that was the end of that.

Hilbert claimed to be more than 50 years old. None of us kids believed he could possibly be that old until one Saturday morning, when his mother was gone, he invited some of us up to his room in the second story of their house and let us watch while he shaved. He also showed us his collections of old comic books and baseball cards. He had hundreds and hundreds of them, many of them over 20 years old. We decided that maybe he was as old as he said he was. I think it was around that time that I asked my dad why Hilbert had never grown up, and he said something about some people being born that way.

That was also about the time that we got a new preacher, the one my folks never liked. His sermons were way too long, and from the tone of them you would have thought we were the most wicked congregation God had anywhere in the world. The new preacher didn't want Hilbert to stand by the door and greet people on Sunday mornings. He always sent him on some kind of errand about the time people started to arrive, just to get him out of the way. This was the same preacher who refused to let Hilbert take communion. He said he didn't understand what it meant and it would be a sacrilege for anyone to approach the altar under those circumstances. It must have been a long three years for Hilbert, until that preacher finally left and we got one who wasn't quite so particular.

It was about a year after that when Hilbert's mother died and he came to live with us on the farm. We put him up in the spare room, where the hired man stayed when we had one. We kids thought it was great fun to have him around all of the time. He went berry picking with us, and fishing and swimming in the creek. He also liked to help us with our chores, and we were glad to let him. We had to watch him, though. One time he hopped on the tractor, started it up, put it in gear, and was headed straight for the barn before Dad saw him and somehow managed to climb on from the back and get it stopped before it crashed into the barn. I'll never forget how mad Dad was. He yelled at Hilbert for quite a while, and when he was done with him he yelled at us for allowing it happen. That was the last straw. Dad said it was too dangerous for Hilbert to stay on the farm. He said he was going to make arrangements for him to live somewhere else.

They had a big community meeting at the church on a Thursday night to decide what to do with Uncle Hilbert. Hilbert was there, too. He sat in the back pew with us kids. He didn't greet people at the door when they came in that night, and he didn't smile much either, as he usually did. We could tell that he was upset. He just sat in the pew and pretended to read one of his comic books.

The general consensus was that Hilbert should be sent to the county farm. Since he had little money, no relatives, and no friends who were willing to take him in, it seemed the only logical thing to do. Someone said that Hilbert would be happy there once he got used to it, said they had crafts that he could do and there was bingo on Fridays. Surely he would enjoy that. Why, he would probably be a lot better off there than he could ever be in town, where there was nothing for someone like him to do.

It seemed to be all settled when Mrs. Drury stood up and said in a loud, emphatic voice, "I will not let you send Hilbert away!" Mrs. Drury was the widow of the blacksmith, a quiet little woman who rarely said anything to anyone. She was the last person anyone would have expected to speak out at a public meeting. The church became very quiet. Everyone waited to hear what she was going to say.

"When I was sick last year," she went on, "Hilbert came to see me every day. He fed the dog for me and watered my plants. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there. I'm not faulting the rest of you. I'm sure you would have come if I had asked you. The point is, Hilbert was there. No siree, I won't stand by and allow you to put him away. He will come and live with me."

Hilbert lived with Mrs. Drury until he died, about 10 years later. It all seems like such a long time ago now. But I still see Uncle Hilbert's smiling face when I walk in the door of the church on Sunday mornings, and in the quiet time before the service, as I prepare myself for worship, I thank God for all that he gave us.

Author's note: In loving memory of my uncle, Max Long; my aunt, Mary Long; and our neighbor, Donald Moore. They are the Uncle Hilberts for whose lives I still give thanks.


Scrap Pile

Many Gifts
by John Sumwalt

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Do you have charisma? The apostle Paul suggests in this letter to Corinthian Christians that we all have it. We usually think of charisma as a special appeal or attractiveness which certain public figures have. John and Jackie Kennedy had it, Elvis Presley and Princess Di had it, Oprah has it. Arnold Schwarzenegger has it.

It is that special something in their personalities and the way they present themselves in public that draws people to them.

Paul uses the word "charisma" in a little broader way than it is popularly understood today. In New Testament Greek, charisma means gift, and it refers to any gift given to a person by God.

I played a cornet in high school -- first chair third. If I had practiced more, I might have made first chair second section. But no amount of practice would have enabled me to play like Al Hirt or Doc Severinsen. I didn't have the gift. I could take piano lessons and practice playing twelve hours a day for the rest of my life, and even if I lived to be a hundred I would never be able to play like Liberace. He had more than training and practice, he had something plus, the charisma -- the gift of God. I have short fingers and a poor sense of rhythm!

I could go to technical school and study auto mechanics for the next fifty years and I would never be able to repair an engine like my father-in-law, Lester Perry. Even if I learned the basics, which is most unlikely since I can barely tell a carburetor from a hubcap, I would never have that something extra -- that gift from God. Lester not only understands how engines work, he possesses an inventive mind and finds ways to make them work better. If no parts are available to fix something, he designs and builds what is needed. He has that something plus which is a gift from God.

Even though I can't play a piano or repair a carburetor, I have other gifts. I can whistle with my fingers. I can bake the best sourdough coffee cake you ever tasted, and sometimes I can tell a pretty good story. I am gifted, as we all are gifted. Say that with me: "I am gifted!" Say it like you believe it! Each of us has charisma.

Now, I know some of you are sitting there saying, no, I am not gifted. I'm not musical, I'm not artistic, I can't sew, I can't dance, I can't paint, I'm not mechanical, I can't cook. I don't do anything well. We all know people like that, who are not able to celebrate the great gifts God has given them.

I know a woman who would tell you that she is not gifted: that she has no exceptional abilities. Yet I have seen her sit down with little children and join them in a tea party or read a book to them or play with them in the sandbox, giving them all of her attention, her full self. It is no small thing to make a child happy.

We are all gifted, many of us more than we know. God knows, and God will give us opportunities to use and enjoy the blessings of our charisma.

One of the things your leaders asked me to do, when I agreed last February to come here as your pastor, was to help build up the fellowship by starting new small groups. So a few months ago I suggested to the Council on Ministries that we have 15 to 20 study/sharing groups for six weeks during Lent this year. Everyone will be invited to be a part of one of these groups. There will be 8 to 12 people in each group. We will study a brief Bible passage, but the emphasis will be on sharing and getting to know other members of the group. It will be a way of making new friends and sharing our faith struggles.

To do all of this, we will need two leaders for each group, so this week I will begin to invite some of you to be co-leaders of these Lenten groups, and I just know some of you are going to say to me, "I couldn't do that. I've never led a Bible study. I'm no scholar. I wouldn't know what to do." And what I will say to you is, "Trust your own heart, your own sense of yourself, but more than that, trust the Spirit."

Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in Milwaukee, January 15, 1995.


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New Book
The second volume in the vision series, Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences, is available from CSS Publishing Company. For more information about the book visit the CSS website at http://www.csspub.com. You can order any of our books on the CSS website (see the complete list below); they are also available from www.amazon.com and at many Christian bookstores. Or simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. (If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.) Click on any title for more information.

Books by John & Jo Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences
Vision Stories: True Accounts of Visions, Angels, and Healing Miracles
Life Stories: A Study in Christian Decision Making
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle A
Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle B
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit: 62 Stories for Cycle B


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StoryShare, January 25, 2004, issue.

Copyright 2004 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.