The Test
Stories
Object:
Contents
"The Test" by Keith Hewitt
"Glory Days" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
The Test
by Keith Hewitt
Exodus 20:1-17
"I don't get it."
John Randall looked up from his book, toward his son. The boy looked puzzled -- the kind of face Randall was accustomed to seeing when his son was struggling over math, not when he was watching TV. A quick glance at the television -- The Jetsons, not exactly challenging intellectual fare -- and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what the boy was watching. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, he put a finger on the page he'd been reading and closed the book, leaned forward slightly. "Don't get what?"
"Old Mrs. Kieselhorst --" Randall raised an eyebrow, and his son started over. "Mrs. Kieselhorst told us that nobody can keep the Ten Commandments. She said that humans weren't capable of living up to the law. If that's true, then what's the point? God knows everything, right?"
Randall nodded. "Right."
"Then if God knows everything, he knows nobody can keep the commandments. So why give them to us? It's like making everybody take a test he knows they can't pass." He shrugged, hands open in front of him. "Seems kind of mean, if you ask me."
"You think so?"
"Yeah! It's like when that substitute teacher gave us a history test, and it was on stuff we hadn't even studied yet. You went in and talked to Mister Hansen about it and explained how it wasn't fair."
Randall nodded slowly, considering the question. "Yes, that was a mistake on the sub's part -- she gave you the wrong chapter test."
"So you made sure it didn't count."
"Right." It hadn't been a hard point to make -- the teacher realized the mistake even before Randall had gone to see him, when he started grading the tests. "So tell me, when you first saw the test, what did you think?"
"Well, that was a while ago... but first, I was thinking that I didn't know anything that was on it. There were names and places I never even heard of."
Randall nodded. "Right."
"And then I thought, 'Uh-oh. I'm getting grounded for sure.' "
Randall smiled. "I imagine so."
"I tried to say something to the sub, but she wouldn't listen. Then I talked to the other kids after school, and they all said it was hard too. That it was stuff we hadn't even covered." He shrugged. "That's when I came to you and you went in and talked to Mister Hansen."
"Right. So when you took that test, you knew right away that you couldn't pass it, right?"
His son nodded, eyebrows drawn together slightly.
"Mister Hansen didn't intend for it to happen that way, but it was a pretty good tool for showing you what you didn't know -- what you weren't capable of. Not yet, anyway."
Randall shifted in his chair; the vinyl cushion huffed softly at the change in position. "I think what Mrs. Kieselhorst was getting at is that the commandments are like that test. They're a tool God gives us so that we'll know what God expects of us... and show us those things that we just can't do. They're kind of a mirror that we can look at and see where we've gone wrong," he concluded, studying his son's face. "Understand, Bud?"
The boy's eyebrows drew closer together, and he nodded slowly. "I guess so. What you're saying is that God knows we can't keep all of them, but he gave them to us so we could see how bad we really are."
Randall smiled. "Something like that. Without them, we'd never even know what the ground rules are -- as it is, we know what they are, and that we can't keep them on our own."
His son shrugged. "Okay. I guess that makes sense."
"It'll make more sense as you get older. And less," Randall added philosophically, and when his son looked closely at him he just shook his head. "Never mind. But there is one thing you should remember. You know how I went in and talked to Mister Hansen, when you asked me for help -- when you said you knew you'd flunked?"
His son nodded. "Sure."
"It's kind of like what happens when you realize you just can't keep the commandments, and you reach out to Jesus for help. All of those things you've done wrong, all of the commandments you've broken -- they are all erased." He snapped his fingers softly. "As easy as that! Just like your grade from that test. Like it was never even there."
After a long pause his son smiled and nodded again. "Wow. That's pretty cool."
Randal smiled, too, and said, "I like to think so."
"Neat." He fell silent, then, eyes on the screen as the Jetsons found their way out of some predicament or other. Randall waited for a moment or two, then leaned back in his chair once more and opened his book, looked down to find his spot.
He had just found it when his son said quietly, "So -- what we just talked about -- does that work on math tests too?"
Randall looked down at the page and sighed...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Glory Days
by C. David McKirachan
John 2:13-22
I was on the stationary bike at the gym the other day. I watch TV with ear phones to make the suffering go more quickly. I ran across a retrospective on PBS called "The Folk Era." There were all of them, my heroes: The Limelighters; The Kingston Trio; Peter, Paul, and Mary; The Lovin' Spoonfull; The Byrds; The Youngbloods; and the list went on. I remembered feeling a sense of power and possibility, a willingness to assault the fortresses of the military industrial complex for no better reason than they were making money on a war. The music brought me back to discussions, rallies, marches, chants, parties, jokes, and being so young. Anything seemed possible.
The disciples remembered Jesus with more than affection or adoration. They remembered standing at the center of a movement that was pounding on the gates of power and authority that was not doing much of anything except making money and fortifying its position. They remembered being defined by a vision that took them to a place of idealism that washed their souls, their desires, their dreams built of all these flimsy whisps -- a movement that seemed like it could change the world. "...they remembered..."
Jesus led them beyond the edges of the necessary or the safe, the convenient, or the practical to places where anthems carried as much power as swords, political power, or even old ideas of what was holy. He led them to dangerous places, and they felt more free than they'd ever felt. He knew the price they'd pay. They were too busy being excited to consider any such thing. He was ready to pay it. They had to watch it all fall apart to remember.
Perhaps the reason they gathered afterward was to try to find some bits and pieces of those glory days. They needed to feel something other than ashes and disappointment. They clung to each other like survivors of a tornado's wrath.
Ideals don't get old, people do. But even as we age, the ideals can lead us out beyond the boundaries of safe and secure. We haven't failed. It's a different kind of battle we're fighting. He tried to teach them that. He's still trying to teach us. We're in this for the long haul. That's why He told us, "Do this remembering me."
I sat there on the bike singing, "Come on people now, smile on your brother, Everybody get together, try to love one another right now." I got some strange looks, but I felt like letting my freak flag fly. Peace.
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, March 11, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
"The Test" by Keith Hewitt
"Glory Days" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
The Test
by Keith Hewitt
Exodus 20:1-17
"I don't get it."
John Randall looked up from his book, toward his son. The boy looked puzzled -- the kind of face Randall was accustomed to seeing when his son was struggling over math, not when he was watching TV. A quick glance at the television -- The Jetsons, not exactly challenging intellectual fare -- and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what the boy was watching. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, he put a finger on the page he'd been reading and closed the book, leaned forward slightly. "Don't get what?"
"Old Mrs. Kieselhorst --" Randall raised an eyebrow, and his son started over. "Mrs. Kieselhorst told us that nobody can keep the Ten Commandments. She said that humans weren't capable of living up to the law. If that's true, then what's the point? God knows everything, right?"
Randall nodded. "Right."
"Then if God knows everything, he knows nobody can keep the commandments. So why give them to us? It's like making everybody take a test he knows they can't pass." He shrugged, hands open in front of him. "Seems kind of mean, if you ask me."
"You think so?"
"Yeah! It's like when that substitute teacher gave us a history test, and it was on stuff we hadn't even studied yet. You went in and talked to Mister Hansen about it and explained how it wasn't fair."
Randall nodded slowly, considering the question. "Yes, that was a mistake on the sub's part -- she gave you the wrong chapter test."
"So you made sure it didn't count."
"Right." It hadn't been a hard point to make -- the teacher realized the mistake even before Randall had gone to see him, when he started grading the tests. "So tell me, when you first saw the test, what did you think?"
"Well, that was a while ago... but first, I was thinking that I didn't know anything that was on it. There were names and places I never even heard of."
Randall nodded. "Right."
"And then I thought, 'Uh-oh. I'm getting grounded for sure.' "
Randall smiled. "I imagine so."
"I tried to say something to the sub, but she wouldn't listen. Then I talked to the other kids after school, and they all said it was hard too. That it was stuff we hadn't even covered." He shrugged. "That's when I came to you and you went in and talked to Mister Hansen."
"Right. So when you took that test, you knew right away that you couldn't pass it, right?"
His son nodded, eyebrows drawn together slightly.
"Mister Hansen didn't intend for it to happen that way, but it was a pretty good tool for showing you what you didn't know -- what you weren't capable of. Not yet, anyway."
Randall shifted in his chair; the vinyl cushion huffed softly at the change in position. "I think what Mrs. Kieselhorst was getting at is that the commandments are like that test. They're a tool God gives us so that we'll know what God expects of us... and show us those things that we just can't do. They're kind of a mirror that we can look at and see where we've gone wrong," he concluded, studying his son's face. "Understand, Bud?"
The boy's eyebrows drew closer together, and he nodded slowly. "I guess so. What you're saying is that God knows we can't keep all of them, but he gave them to us so we could see how bad we really are."
Randall smiled. "Something like that. Without them, we'd never even know what the ground rules are -- as it is, we know what they are, and that we can't keep them on our own."
His son shrugged. "Okay. I guess that makes sense."
"It'll make more sense as you get older. And less," Randall added philosophically, and when his son looked closely at him he just shook his head. "Never mind. But there is one thing you should remember. You know how I went in and talked to Mister Hansen, when you asked me for help -- when you said you knew you'd flunked?"
His son nodded. "Sure."
"It's kind of like what happens when you realize you just can't keep the commandments, and you reach out to Jesus for help. All of those things you've done wrong, all of the commandments you've broken -- they are all erased." He snapped his fingers softly. "As easy as that! Just like your grade from that test. Like it was never even there."
After a long pause his son smiled and nodded again. "Wow. That's pretty cool."
Randal smiled, too, and said, "I like to think so."
"Neat." He fell silent, then, eyes on the screen as the Jetsons found their way out of some predicament or other. Randall waited for a moment or two, then leaned back in his chair once more and opened his book, looked down to find his spot.
He had just found it when his son said quietly, "So -- what we just talked about -- does that work on math tests too?"
Randall looked down at the page and sighed...
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
Glory Days
by C. David McKirachan
John 2:13-22
I was on the stationary bike at the gym the other day. I watch TV with ear phones to make the suffering go more quickly. I ran across a retrospective on PBS called "The Folk Era." There were all of them, my heroes: The Limelighters; The Kingston Trio; Peter, Paul, and Mary; The Lovin' Spoonfull; The Byrds; The Youngbloods; and the list went on. I remembered feeling a sense of power and possibility, a willingness to assault the fortresses of the military industrial complex for no better reason than they were making money on a war. The music brought me back to discussions, rallies, marches, chants, parties, jokes, and being so young. Anything seemed possible.
The disciples remembered Jesus with more than affection or adoration. They remembered standing at the center of a movement that was pounding on the gates of power and authority that was not doing much of anything except making money and fortifying its position. They remembered being defined by a vision that took them to a place of idealism that washed their souls, their desires, their dreams built of all these flimsy whisps -- a movement that seemed like it could change the world. "...they remembered..."
Jesus led them beyond the edges of the necessary or the safe, the convenient, or the practical to places where anthems carried as much power as swords, political power, or even old ideas of what was holy. He led them to dangerous places, and they felt more free than they'd ever felt. He knew the price they'd pay. They were too busy being excited to consider any such thing. He was ready to pay it. They had to watch it all fall apart to remember.
Perhaps the reason they gathered afterward was to try to find some bits and pieces of those glory days. They needed to feel something other than ashes and disappointment. They clung to each other like survivors of a tornado's wrath.
Ideals don't get old, people do. But even as we age, the ideals can lead us out beyond the boundaries of safe and secure. We haven't failed. It's a different kind of battle we're fighting. He tried to teach them that. He's still trying to teach us. We're in this for the long haul. That's why He told us, "Do this remembering me."
I sat there on the bike singing, "Come on people now, smile on your brother, Everybody get together, try to love one another right now." I got some strange looks, but I felt like letting my freak flag fly. Peace.
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, March 11, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
