Then A Voice Came
Stories
Object:
Contents
Sharing Visions: "Then a Voice Came" by Loxley Ann Schlosser
Good Stories: "The Conversion" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "A Story to Live By"
We begin a new feature in this week's StoryShare: one-minute stories which John prepares for occasional radio spots sponsored by our church. These poignant vignettes also work well as sermon illustrations or meeting starters when you need a very brief devotion. In this issue, Loxley Ann Schlosser also tells about a dramatic healing experience that occurred at the same instant that she heard the voice of God, and Jo shares a touching story about the power of God's transforming love.
We are looking for Easter stories and sermons to share in the upcoming Easter season editions of StoryShare. Dig through your files and send us a story, a joke, or a sermon that you have shared on Easter Sunday or during Eastertide. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net (with StoryShare in the subject line).
Sharing Visions
Then a Voice Came
by Loxley Ann Schlosser
Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified [my name], and I will glorify it again." The crowd standing there heard it and said it was thunder.
John 12:28b-29
Jim and I were married on September 8, 1979. We chose to be married in the Lutheran church where my deceased husband and I had been members. After we were married, Jim continued to attend services at the Catholic church where he was an active member, participating in the choirs as well as reading scriptures during the mass.
After several months, I chose to meet with a priest and began the process of studying in preparation to become a member of the Catholic church, so that we could worship together as a family. I have two daughters from my first marriage. At the time Jim and I married, my girls, Kimberly and Kristine, were ages six and four, respectively.
We attended mass every Sunday, enrolled our girls in Catholic school, and became a very happy family. We enjoyed attending church and school activities. Both of us sang in the choirs and taught religion on Wednesday evenings to children from our parish who attended public schools. Jim and I were remarried in the Catholic church in 1980, and I received the sacraments as required. I felt very good about having become a Catholic, although I never understood anything about church dogma and just couldn't accept the need of confession to a priest.
In 1986, Jim began attending private home Bible study. The study group consisted of people from different denominations: Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Methodist, and Assembly of God, all from local churches. After just a few weeks, Jim was acting very differently. He began talking about Jesus in an intimate way, as if he and Jesus were close friends. He said things that I couldn't quite grasp, insisting that he had been born again and that Christ was alive within him. He was so excited about the Lord and reading the Bible every spare second that he was driving me crazy.
Jim began attending church on Sunday mornings and Sunday and Wednesday evenings at the Assembly of God church, always carrying his Bible with him and being excited about what the minister was teaching. He wanted me to go to the Assembly of God church with him, and he said all the people were praying for me. Jim said that I had to be born again. He was always reading his Bible and constantly "preaching" to me. I was still a very active member of the Catholic church, and frankly, I was not interested in going to a church where people would raise their hands in church and babble. I felt confused, angry, and determined not to go with him.
Jim became more and more involved with his new church. At Christmas they presented a musical drama, "The Gospel According to Scrooge," and Jim was in the play. On Saturday night he pleaded with me to go with him to see this production. I got very angry and said, "No!" After he left for the church, I mixed a batch of cookies to bake for the girls. I put the tray of cookies in the oven and started thinking about Jim. Then the timer went off, indicating that the cookies were done. I opened the oven door, and without any hot pads I reached into the oven and lifted the hot tray of cookies with my bare hands. Needless to say, they were severely burned. As I ran cold water over the burns, a voice spoke to me as clearly as if someone was standing next to me, "Loxley, you belong in church with your husband." The Lord was speaking to me ... and my hands immediately stopped hurting!
When Jim came home, I showed him my hands. There were raised red welts, like blisters, on both of them. I told Jim my hands did not hurt, and that the Lord has spoken to me as clearly as I was speaking to him.
Sunday morning, when I awoke, there was no trace whatsoever of any burn marks on my hands. If Jim had not been a witness to this event, I would have thought I dreamt it. That evening, I went to the play at church and felt closer to God than at any other time in my life. Following this, I began to attend church and Bible study with Jim on a regular basis. I was baptized and now have a very personal relationship with God.
Loxley Ann Schlosser has been married to Jim for 22 years, and is a member of Community Church in West Bend, Wisconsin.
Good Stories
The Conversion
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, "know the Lord," for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.
Jeremiah 31:34
She hadn't intended to speak. In fact, she had thought she could sneak quietly into the church after the service began, sit in an inconspicuous place, and leave before it ended. She had no way of knowing before she got inside how open and exposed all of the seats in the small sanctuary were, not at all like the huge churches they showed in TV shows and movies. All she had meant to do was sit quietly and somehow communicate to God her thankfulness that her son had been spared. But she had felt exposed ever since she sat down. She was afraid everyone was looking and wondering, "What is she doing here?" And then the pastor had asked if anyone had concerns and celebrations to share, and before she could control herself she found her hand raised, just like she was in grade school again.
The pastor nodded at her, as nearly every eye in the church turned to look at her in the back pew. She swallowed to try and wet the inside of her mouth, where her tongue felt as if it were glued down. But as she pulled herself to her feet, she saw the kind, welcoming eyes of the woman from the hospital several rows ahead, and she knew what to say.
"Most of you know my name is Mary Paul. I've lived in this town all of my life, and this is the first time I ever set foot in this church. My brothers and I have run the Whistle Stop tavern ever since our dad died. Our family never had anything to do with church. Dad used to say it was a conflict of interest."
A smile twitched the corner of her mouth, but she kept it from fully forming. The friendly woman nodded, though, and Mary kept going.
"I came in here today because I wanted to say thank you to God for the life of my son. I think you all know that Steve smashed up his car out on Highway 33 last Tuesday night. He's been in intensive care ever since, and they didn't give me much hope that he'd pull through. This morning at 7:00 they said he turned the corner, and they think he'll live. Up until Saturday morning, I would have only thought to thank the doctors that he pulled through. But on Saturday, a member of this church called on Steve and me at the hospital."
Some of the eyes of the congregation turned away from Mary at that point, and rested on the friendly face that still smiled softly at her. Mary pushed onward.
"I never met this woman before Saturday. I think she said her name is Eleanor, and I see her sitting over there. Well, Eleanor came into the waiting room when all my family and the people I call my friends had gone, and talked to me just like I was her friend. She said how sorry she was about Steve, and how she heard that the accident wasn't his fault, which is just the opposite of what everyone else was either saying or thinking. She asked if we could go into his room in the ICU together so she could say a prayer for him.
"I'm not one for praying. What my life has been like is no secret in this town. But she was so nice, and her caring was so real, that I said yes, and when she touched Steve's hand, with all those tubes and needles hooked in it, and prayed to God that he would be all right, well, I prayed that, too. I prayed for the first time I can remember in my whole life. And this morning they tell me Steve is going to pull through."
The lump in her throat which had taken the place of the dryness choked off most of her last words. She looked down, embarrassed, when tears escaped from her eyes and began to run down her face and nose. It just wasn't like her to cry over anything. Then she remembered the point she was trying to make, ignored the tears, and looked directly back at the congregation, most of whom now looked surprised.
"Anyhow," Mary said, "on my way home I saw all the cars here, and I just felt like I should come in and say thank you to God for my son's life. And while I'm at it, thank you, Eleanor, for being there at the right time for me and Steve. People like you are what goodness is really about. If there were more like you, maybe I would have been brave enough to come in here and say thanks to God sooner."
Then Mary Paul reached for her purse and keys on the pew and stepped out into the aisle to leave. But when she turned, Eleanor was standing beside her, and took her arm and led her forward to the pew where she had been sitting. And through the rest of the service they shared a bulletin and a hymnal and Christ's peace.
John's Scrap Pile
A Story to Live By
Our church's Outreach Task Force spends about $15,000 a year on advertising in newspapers, yellow pages, and on the radio. Our average worship attendance has increased 28% (69 persons per Sunday) since we began our outreach efforts four years ago. This was due, in part, to an extensive telemarketing campaign in which about a hundred members did 17,000 dial-ups over four weeks as a prelude to starting a third worship service.
The cornerstone of our outreach emphasis is the series of one-minute radio spots I do on WMYX, a Milwaukee-area station that has the highest ratings among women listeners between the ages of 18 and 49. If a family does not have a church home it is usually the woman who says, "Honey, let's go to church today." I conclude each spot with these words, "I'm John Sumwalt with a story to live by from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church, www.waumc.org." Many listeners visit our web site and then find their way to one of our worship services.
Here is an example of one of our "Stories to Live By":
Letting Go
There was once a mother who loved to cook over the open fire with a huge cast-iron frying pan. She'd had that fry pan as far back as anyone could remember, and it worked particularly well over an open flame.
One day, when the family was camping, Mom was cooking with her favorite skillet over a lovely crackling fire. She was standing on a rock ledge that jutted out high over the lake. With the pan in her hand, she stepped back without thinking and toppled right over the ledge into the deep water. Although a pretty good swimmer, she struggled and struggled and couldn't keep her head above water. She was going down for the third time when her husband yelled out, "Let go of the pan!" She did and it sank to the depths below, but she survived.
What do you need to let go of to survive in this world?
I'm John Sumwalt with a story to live by from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church, www.waumc.org.
StoryShare, April 6, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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 and in worship and classroom settings only. 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.
Sharing Visions: "Then a Voice Came" by Loxley Ann Schlosser
Good Stories: "The Conversion" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "A Story to Live By"
We begin a new feature in this week's StoryShare: one-minute stories which John prepares for occasional radio spots sponsored by our church. These poignant vignettes also work well as sermon illustrations or meeting starters when you need a very brief devotion. In this issue, Loxley Ann Schlosser also tells about a dramatic healing experience that occurred at the same instant that she heard the voice of God, and Jo shares a touching story about the power of God's transforming love.
We are looking for Easter stories and sermons to share in the upcoming Easter season editions of StoryShare. Dig through your files and send us a story, a joke, or a sermon that you have shared on Easter Sunday or during Eastertide. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net (with StoryShare in the subject line).
Sharing Visions
Then a Voice Came
by Loxley Ann Schlosser
Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified [my name], and I will glorify it again." The crowd standing there heard it and said it was thunder.
John 12:28b-29
Jim and I were married on September 8, 1979. We chose to be married in the Lutheran church where my deceased husband and I had been members. After we were married, Jim continued to attend services at the Catholic church where he was an active member, participating in the choirs as well as reading scriptures during the mass.
After several months, I chose to meet with a priest and began the process of studying in preparation to become a member of the Catholic church, so that we could worship together as a family. I have two daughters from my first marriage. At the time Jim and I married, my girls, Kimberly and Kristine, were ages six and four, respectively.
We attended mass every Sunday, enrolled our girls in Catholic school, and became a very happy family. We enjoyed attending church and school activities. Both of us sang in the choirs and taught religion on Wednesday evenings to children from our parish who attended public schools. Jim and I were remarried in the Catholic church in 1980, and I received the sacraments as required. I felt very good about having become a Catholic, although I never understood anything about church dogma and just couldn't accept the need of confession to a priest.
In 1986, Jim began attending private home Bible study. The study group consisted of people from different denominations: Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, Methodist, and Assembly of God, all from local churches. After just a few weeks, Jim was acting very differently. He began talking about Jesus in an intimate way, as if he and Jesus were close friends. He said things that I couldn't quite grasp, insisting that he had been born again and that Christ was alive within him. He was so excited about the Lord and reading the Bible every spare second that he was driving me crazy.
Jim began attending church on Sunday mornings and Sunday and Wednesday evenings at the Assembly of God church, always carrying his Bible with him and being excited about what the minister was teaching. He wanted me to go to the Assembly of God church with him, and he said all the people were praying for me. Jim said that I had to be born again. He was always reading his Bible and constantly "preaching" to me. I was still a very active member of the Catholic church, and frankly, I was not interested in going to a church where people would raise their hands in church and babble. I felt confused, angry, and determined not to go with him.
Jim became more and more involved with his new church. At Christmas they presented a musical drama, "The Gospel According to Scrooge," and Jim was in the play. On Saturday night he pleaded with me to go with him to see this production. I got very angry and said, "No!" After he left for the church, I mixed a batch of cookies to bake for the girls. I put the tray of cookies in the oven and started thinking about Jim. Then the timer went off, indicating that the cookies were done. I opened the oven door, and without any hot pads I reached into the oven and lifted the hot tray of cookies with my bare hands. Needless to say, they were severely burned. As I ran cold water over the burns, a voice spoke to me as clearly as if someone was standing next to me, "Loxley, you belong in church with your husband." The Lord was speaking to me ... and my hands immediately stopped hurting!
When Jim came home, I showed him my hands. There were raised red welts, like blisters, on both of them. I told Jim my hands did not hurt, and that the Lord has spoken to me as clearly as I was speaking to him.
Sunday morning, when I awoke, there was no trace whatsoever of any burn marks on my hands. If Jim had not been a witness to this event, I would have thought I dreamt it. That evening, I went to the play at church and felt closer to God than at any other time in my life. Following this, I began to attend church and Bible study with Jim on a regular basis. I was baptized and now have a very personal relationship with God.
Loxley Ann Schlosser has been married to Jim for 22 years, and is a member of Community Church in West Bend, Wisconsin.
Good Stories
The Conversion
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, "know the Lord," for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.
Jeremiah 31:34
She hadn't intended to speak. In fact, she had thought she could sneak quietly into the church after the service began, sit in an inconspicuous place, and leave before it ended. She had no way of knowing before she got inside how open and exposed all of the seats in the small sanctuary were, not at all like the huge churches they showed in TV shows and movies. All she had meant to do was sit quietly and somehow communicate to God her thankfulness that her son had been spared. But she had felt exposed ever since she sat down. She was afraid everyone was looking and wondering, "What is she doing here?" And then the pastor had asked if anyone had concerns and celebrations to share, and before she could control herself she found her hand raised, just like she was in grade school again.
The pastor nodded at her, as nearly every eye in the church turned to look at her in the back pew. She swallowed to try and wet the inside of her mouth, where her tongue felt as if it were glued down. But as she pulled herself to her feet, she saw the kind, welcoming eyes of the woman from the hospital several rows ahead, and she knew what to say.
"Most of you know my name is Mary Paul. I've lived in this town all of my life, and this is the first time I ever set foot in this church. My brothers and I have run the Whistle Stop tavern ever since our dad died. Our family never had anything to do with church. Dad used to say it was a conflict of interest."
A smile twitched the corner of her mouth, but she kept it from fully forming. The friendly woman nodded, though, and Mary kept going.
"I came in here today because I wanted to say thank you to God for the life of my son. I think you all know that Steve smashed up his car out on Highway 33 last Tuesday night. He's been in intensive care ever since, and they didn't give me much hope that he'd pull through. This morning at 7:00 they said he turned the corner, and they think he'll live. Up until Saturday morning, I would have only thought to thank the doctors that he pulled through. But on Saturday, a member of this church called on Steve and me at the hospital."
Some of the eyes of the congregation turned away from Mary at that point, and rested on the friendly face that still smiled softly at her. Mary pushed onward.
"I never met this woman before Saturday. I think she said her name is Eleanor, and I see her sitting over there. Well, Eleanor came into the waiting room when all my family and the people I call my friends had gone, and talked to me just like I was her friend. She said how sorry she was about Steve, and how she heard that the accident wasn't his fault, which is just the opposite of what everyone else was either saying or thinking. She asked if we could go into his room in the ICU together so she could say a prayer for him.
"I'm not one for praying. What my life has been like is no secret in this town. But she was so nice, and her caring was so real, that I said yes, and when she touched Steve's hand, with all those tubes and needles hooked in it, and prayed to God that he would be all right, well, I prayed that, too. I prayed for the first time I can remember in my whole life. And this morning they tell me Steve is going to pull through."
The lump in her throat which had taken the place of the dryness choked off most of her last words. She looked down, embarrassed, when tears escaped from her eyes and began to run down her face and nose. It just wasn't like her to cry over anything. Then she remembered the point she was trying to make, ignored the tears, and looked directly back at the congregation, most of whom now looked surprised.
"Anyhow," Mary said, "on my way home I saw all the cars here, and I just felt like I should come in and say thank you to God for my son's life. And while I'm at it, thank you, Eleanor, for being there at the right time for me and Steve. People like you are what goodness is really about. If there were more like you, maybe I would have been brave enough to come in here and say thanks to God sooner."
Then Mary Paul reached for her purse and keys on the pew and stepped out into the aisle to leave. But when she turned, Eleanor was standing beside her, and took her arm and led her forward to the pew where she had been sitting. And through the rest of the service they shared a bulletin and a hymnal and Christ's peace.
John's Scrap Pile
A Story to Live By
Our church's Outreach Task Force spends about $15,000 a year on advertising in newspapers, yellow pages, and on the radio. Our average worship attendance has increased 28% (69 persons per Sunday) since we began our outreach efforts four years ago. This was due, in part, to an extensive telemarketing campaign in which about a hundred members did 17,000 dial-ups over four weeks as a prelude to starting a third worship service.
The cornerstone of our outreach emphasis is the series of one-minute radio spots I do on WMYX, a Milwaukee-area station that has the highest ratings among women listeners between the ages of 18 and 49. If a family does not have a church home it is usually the woman who says, "Honey, let's go to church today." I conclude each spot with these words, "I'm John Sumwalt with a story to live by from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church, www.waumc.org." Many listeners visit our web site and then find their way to one of our worship services.
Here is an example of one of our "Stories to Live By":
Letting Go
There was once a mother who loved to cook over the open fire with a huge cast-iron frying pan. She'd had that fry pan as far back as anyone could remember, and it worked particularly well over an open flame.
One day, when the family was camping, Mom was cooking with her favorite skillet over a lovely crackling fire. She was standing on a rock ledge that jutted out high over the lake. With the pan in her hand, she stepped back without thinking and toppled right over the ledge into the deep water. Although a pretty good swimmer, she struggled and struggled and couldn't keep her head above water. She was going down for the third time when her husband yelled out, "Let go of the pan!" She did and it sank to the depths below, but she survived.
What do you need to let go of to survive in this world?
I'm John Sumwalt with a story to live by from Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church, www.waumc.org.
StoryShare, April 6, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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 and in worship and classroom settings only. 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.
