A Time For Everything
Stories
Contents
"A Time for Everything" by Larry Winebrenner
"A Word of Hope" by Larry Winebrenner
"You Were Adopted" by C. David McKirachan
"Behold the Man" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
A Time for Everything
Larry Winebrenner
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13
Henry didn't like Jack.
Oh, he loved him like a brother. He would die for his friend. But oh, the arrogance. He always thought he was right. And he would always use authority, authority of some kind, to support his claims.
Like now. He said it was time to go. Go? They'd wait in that cold auditorium for from three quarters of an hour to a whole hour.
In enemy territory.
Alone.
The whole school was boycotting the game. Last time not only was Northwood High unsportsman like. They also egged several of Beall High's cars. Who in their right mind would go back?
"We gotta, man," said Jack. "We gotta support our team."
Well, he'd talked Henry into going. But early?
"There's a time for everything," declared Jack. "The Bible says so."
"Oh yeah?" challenged Henry. "Where?"
Jack turned to a passage in Ecclesiastes. He read, "'There is a time for everything,' Ecclesiastes 3:1"
Henry grabbed the Bible before Jack could close it. There it was in black and white, "There is a time for everything." Henry read on.
"It doesn't say anything in here about there's a time to attend a basketball game an hour early," declared Henry.
Jack looked at him as if he were deprived of any wits at all.
"Duh," he drawled. "That's part of 'a time for everything.' Early attendance is part of everything, dolt."
And that's what Henry didn't like. The arrogance of Mr. Know-it-all.
"Okay," he said. "But I'm driving."
"Just don't turtle it," said Jack.
So it was that Henry and Jack met Minnie and Barb. Some dozen blocks from the school the boys saw a couple of coeds standing by their car. At least, a car. The buddies assumed it was theirs.
Henry pulled the Chevy up next to the "damsels in distress." Jack rolled down his window and said, "You just put the key in the slot and turn it."
Minnie turned to her friend and said, "Mr. Chauvinist would drive my Buick down the road with a flat. I've warned you about creatures like him."
"Hey," huffed Jack. "Can't you take a joke? I'll help you with your flat."
"See what I mean? Chauvinist to the hilt," said Minnie. "When all we need is a jack, he wants to help us poor weak women by doing it all."
Henry pulled in front of the crippled vehicle and Jack hopped out.
"Boy are you in luck," he told Minnie.
He gave her an approving once over, liking what he saw and her frank demeanor.
"Not only do you get the world's most charming chauvinist, but his name is Jack -- just what y--"
"Automobile jack -- with a lower case j" she said. She said it with a smile that threatened to break out into a chuckle. "If you have that kind of jack and will lend it to me for fifteen minutes, I can change the tire myself."
Jack changed the tire, though. With Minnie standing over him, instructing him. Much to his dismay.
"You place the jack at this spot," she said, pointing. When he had the jack in place, she said, "Now you place the end of that little crank...." She continued with the simplest action, instructing Jack.
As he was placing Henry's equipment back into the Chevy's trunk, she giggled a bit and said, "I'm sorry if I upset you in any way. I just wanted you to see how it feels. Women are treated like that all the time. I'll make it up to you by buying you a soft drink at the game. Barb and I always go early to get good seats. You can sit with us."
"Uh -- we're from Beall High," he murmured.
"Like I don't know that."
"Some of the guys from--"
Her eyes flashed fire.
"They wouldn't dare," she interrupted. The second time she'd done that.
He believed her.
"Let's do this to send them a message so they won't mess up your car."
"Henry's car."
"His name is Henry? Okay. So they don't mess up Henry's car. There is only three or four bad eggs -- oops. Wrong term. Bad apples in the barrel. But, if we do this, they'll get the message to lay off."
"Do what?" he wanted to know.
"Give me a chance and I'll tell you. You ride to the game with me. Barb will ride with Henry."
"It'll look like we're dating," he said, a bit hesitant.
"That's okay. We'll just make it a date, then."
He looked at her and smiled.
"I've never been asked for a date before," he said.
She replied, "There's a time for everything. That's in the Bible, you know?"
"Yep," he said. "Ecclesiastes 3:1."
A Word of Hope
Larry Winebrenner
Revelation 21:1-6a
His name sounded like a theological term -- Benedictus. He was pastor of First United Methodist Church in Warsaw, Poland. He had been pastor there since World War II [WWII].
"This is the oldest Protestant church in Warsaw," he told a touring group from a Peace Conference in the 1980s. "I saved it with two bottles of wine during WWII."
Pastor Benedictus told of Hitler's vindictiveness in Warsaw. When the Soviets crossed the river, German troops withdrew. Hitler was so angry he ordered every building in Warsaw destroyed by dynamite.
When the young German soldier came to destroy the church, Benedictus offered him two bottles of fine wine not to destroy the building.
"For you see," Benedictus told his audience, "You may destroy a building with dynamite, but you can't destroy the Church with dynamite."
The young soldier said, "I will be in serious trouble if I don't destroy the building. But here is what I can do. I can cause the floors inside to collapse, but not the walls. The basic structure will remain and you can replace the floors."
Benedictus gave him the wine and the basic structure remained.
"But the Soviets were a greater threat to the Church than the Germans ever had been," said Benedictus. He continued the story of that church.
As the Poles resisted domination more and more, the social environment became more and more tense.
"It was a Saturday that the curfew was announced. No one was permitted on the streets after dark. Anyone found on the streets after dark would be arrested. It was an extreme police action.
"I had already prepared my Sunday sermon. But it was not adequate for this. Besides, with this turn of events, would anyone attend church? Would anyone dare defy the atheistic Communists who had exercised such extreme control over the city?
"The next day I went to church early. Already the sanctuary was full. By the time I stepped into the pulpit, not only were the main floor seats filled. So was the balcony. So were the aisles. So were the stairwells. Standing around next to the walls, there was such a crowd, they could hardly breathe.
"It seemed that all of Warsaw had tried to crowd into the church. 'What is the word of the Lord?' they seemed to be asking. My fellow clergy from all faiths throughout the city later told me it was the same everywhere.
"How could I peach? What could I say to these hungry souls?
"I opened my Bible and turned to Revelation 20 to John. I read the chapter. I did not preach. I did not explain. They understood.
"Then, for hope, I read chapter 21.
Then I saw "a new heaven and a new earth," for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.
I saw the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and the Lord will dwell with them. They will be God's people, and God's own self will be with them and be their God.
" 'The LORD will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
The One who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then the Almighty said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
God said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
You were adopted
C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 1:3-14
In some ways I had a very strange childhood. Most preacher's kids do. But there is very little in that strange childhood that I would trade for something further toward the cultural mean. Yet there were moments when I was treated like a normal kid. I had siblings much older than myself, so they had more responsibility for the brat than they would have preferred. Once in a while the kid brother got treated like any other kid brother.
I remember one such day clearly. Having done my best to be a pain in the neck and other parts of the anatomy, I was given a secret. All little kids love secrets. My sister sat me down and very seriously whispered to me, "Did you know you're adopted?" I had no idea what that meant, but seeking to seem wise I shook my head, "No." My sister smiled. That was good, so I continued, "I had no idea." Then she laughed. It wasn't the laugh of a larger person putting down a smaller person, a laugh of domination and cruelty. It was a laugh of a big sister thinking her little brother was cute.
Later I asked the well of all practical knowledge, my mother, "What's adopted?" She descended on the question like a hawk on an unsuspecting gerbil.
"Where did you hear that?" I told her and she worked hard at not being horrified rather unsuccessfully. But then I got the 'precious' speech, which included bits and pieces from the labor and delivery saga of one Charles David McKirachan. In other words, NO WAY, I WAS THERE!
Though she was not happy about the whole thing, I thought the conversation was great. When I finally got a clear definition of "adopted" it still had that valence of special and kind of cool. They had worked so hard making it not a bad thing that it never occurred to me that it might be. My father being cued into the conversation went into a word study of the first chapter of Ephesians at dinner. Like I said, I had a weird childhood.
The part of the word study I understood came down on the "special" business even more solidly. I began to get jealous of these special people who'd had the privilege of being chosen rather than pushed out. I also remember the first time I met an adoptee. I told them it must be really cool to have that privilege. They weren't interested in Ephesians.
Paul agrees with me. Adoption, for him like any self-respecting Hebrew/educated Greek meant you were solidly included in the clan and eligible for inheritance. Pretty cool. Now how many times can anybody say with certitude that Paul agrees with them. I don't know when older siblings got off on the wrong track and started making it second class to be included like this.
There are a lot of kids not to mention animals waiting to be treated as special. I think they would agree with Paul too. It's pretty cool to be brought into the family.
Hey, if God liked the strategy, who is dumb enough to disagree with Him.
I doubt my sister saw it that way after my mother got through with her.
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).
* * *
How do you know a savior, when you see him? With prophecies and long traditions to guide them, the people of Israel had understandable preconceptions about what a messiah would -- and would not -- look like. John tells us that Jesus was often not even recognized for who he was among his own people -- but then again, how would they know? Indeed, put in their position now, how would we know? Keith Hewitt's story, "Behold the Man," shows us two men who are making these decisions.
Behold the Man
Keith Hewitt
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
"Him?"
Jacob packed a lot into the single word, imbuing the simple pronoun with much deeper meaning through the tone of his voice and the way he held his body, the expression on his face.
The object of this exercise of body language and subtext stood on a flattened stone about fifty yards away, down in a hollow formed by two hills. A couple of dozen men -- and a few women -- were gathered around him, some standing, some sitting on the ground, some resting on the trunk of a tree that had fallen to form a bench, of sorts. The man was taller than most -- though that perception might have been distorted by the rock on which he stood -- and was dressed in a simple linen garment that could have used a good cleaning and some mending.
His face -- what Jacob could see of it -- was ordinary; his voice -- what Jacob could hear of it -- matched his face. The wind obliged Jacob a few times by carrying snatches of sentences up to the ridge on which he stood, and the man's Galilean accent came through loud and clear, thick enough to slice and serve for dinner.
"He sounds like a peasant, and looks like a laborer," Jacob judged.
"From what I understand, his father was a laborer," Samuel answered. "I suppose it is reasonable to assume that he is one, too."
Jacob shook his head, looked sideways at the finely robed man who stood next to him. "You brought me out here for this?" He waved a dismissive hand toward the hollow. "He is a cipher, a nothing -- a waste of time."
"And yet, people follow him. You see them down there, listening -- hanging on his every word."
Jacob shook his head, clucking his tongue sympathetically. "Samuel, Samuel -- you are such an innocent man in so many ways. Wait until you have lived as long as I have, and served the way I have served. Then you will know."
"Know what, Jacob?"
"We are not a strong nation, Samuel. We have been occupied many times, by many kingdoms, and because of that we have a sickness -- a burning need to be great again. Our prophets tell us that someone is coming to save us, to restore us to a place of strength and honor, and naturally we believe them. Over time, this takes its toll, particularly on the uneducated. March anyone with a strong voice and a passing knowledge of scripture through any part of Israel, and he will come away with a following. False prophets -- false messiahs -- are ten to a shekel. Twenty during a drought, or other hard times."
Jacob turned away from the scene in the hollow, beckoned for his servants, who stood a decent distance away. "Pass that man on a busy street, and you would not look twice at him," he concluded. "At least that baptizing wild man stood out in a crowd, with his hair shirt and wild eyes."
The two men stood silently for a few moments, as Jacob's servants brought up the sedan chair. As they arrived, Samuel said quietly, "It was the baptizer who said this man was special. He said this man was sent by God."
Jacob chuckled. "I said the baptizer stood out in a crowd -- not that he was a prophet or a scholar. The man is obviously mad as a March hare -- and the way he rails against Herod, he's going to find himself dead or imprisoned one day soon: one less rabble rouser making trouble in the countryside." The old man looked at Samuel curiously. "You're not starting to believe this nonsense, are you?"
"Nonsense?"
"This Messiah nonsense. It's good for the regular people, Samuel, but those of us who know better must keep ourselves from being infected with the madness. The common people need the promise of a deliverer to give them hope, to get them through the day. We're much better off -- with a full belly and coins in our purse now, we don't have to wait and hope for a messiah who will give them to us some time in the future."
Samuel studied the old man, let the words Jacob had spoken become mortar to hold together some of the bits of understanding -- real understanding -- that had started to solidify in his mind. "So you don't believe in the prophecies?" he asked slowly, choosing his words carefully.
The old man shrugged. "Let me answer that twice, Samuel. First, the prophets were men, just like you and I -- and as such, I suspect that not everything they told us is necessarily literally true, or will necessarily come to pass. I think it's possible they misunderstood what God told them. Some of the more outlandish things are just beyond reason, and we must use our God-given brains to determine what makes sense and what doesn't.
"And second -- well, maybe the great Messiah will come to pass, some time in the far distant future. But it will happen with or without us, and I don't expect that it will be in my lifetime or yours. We face too many great enemies to have this make sense now."
"I see," said Samuel slowly -- and really did see, for the first time. "But what if the savior of prophecy is not a warrior savior -- what if he's not here to throw off the shackles of bondage to earthly masters, but to release us from bondage to those things we can't see -- to evil, and sin, and fear? Our own evil -- cynical -- natures?"
Jacob frowned. "Where do you get this nonsense, boy?"
Samuel nodded back toward the hollow on the other side of the hill, now. "I've listened to the man, Jacob. I listened to the baptizer, and now I listen to this man. The kind of salvation they speak of us different."
The old man was silent for a few moments, as he pushed aside the curtain on the sedan chair and then climbed in. The chair bowed slightly as the bearers took up the weight and then steadied so Jacob was at head-height as he sat suspended between the four of them. He leaned out and looked directly at Samuel. "I'm afraid I have kept you idle too long, Samuel. Come back with me, and I will find you a proper position -- something that will keep your head out of the clouds. There is work to be done, Samuel. Good work. Honest work."
The younger man looked at his elder as he pondered the invitation and then nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "there is good work to be done."
Then without another word he turned away and made his way to the hollow where the Galilean spoke.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children.
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StoryShare, January 1-2, 6, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"A Time for Everything" by Larry Winebrenner
"A Word of Hope" by Larry Winebrenner
"You Were Adopted" by C. David McKirachan
"Behold the Man" by Keith Hewitt
* * * * * * * *
A Time for Everything
Larry Winebrenner
Ecclesiastes 3:1-13
Henry didn't like Jack.
Oh, he loved him like a brother. He would die for his friend. But oh, the arrogance. He always thought he was right. And he would always use authority, authority of some kind, to support his claims.
Like now. He said it was time to go. Go? They'd wait in that cold auditorium for from three quarters of an hour to a whole hour.
In enemy territory.
Alone.
The whole school was boycotting the game. Last time not only was Northwood High unsportsman like. They also egged several of Beall High's cars. Who in their right mind would go back?
"We gotta, man," said Jack. "We gotta support our team."
Well, he'd talked Henry into going. But early?
"There's a time for everything," declared Jack. "The Bible says so."
"Oh yeah?" challenged Henry. "Where?"
Jack turned to a passage in Ecclesiastes. He read, "'There is a time for everything,' Ecclesiastes 3:1"
Henry grabbed the Bible before Jack could close it. There it was in black and white, "There is a time for everything." Henry read on.
"It doesn't say anything in here about there's a time to attend a basketball game an hour early," declared Henry.
Jack looked at him as if he were deprived of any wits at all.
"Duh," he drawled. "That's part of 'a time for everything.' Early attendance is part of everything, dolt."
And that's what Henry didn't like. The arrogance of Mr. Know-it-all.
"Okay," he said. "But I'm driving."
"Just don't turtle it," said Jack.
So it was that Henry and Jack met Minnie and Barb. Some dozen blocks from the school the boys saw a couple of coeds standing by their car. At least, a car. The buddies assumed it was theirs.
Henry pulled the Chevy up next to the "damsels in distress." Jack rolled down his window and said, "You just put the key in the slot and turn it."
Minnie turned to her friend and said, "Mr. Chauvinist would drive my Buick down the road with a flat. I've warned you about creatures like him."
"Hey," huffed Jack. "Can't you take a joke? I'll help you with your flat."
"See what I mean? Chauvinist to the hilt," said Minnie. "When all we need is a jack, he wants to help us poor weak women by doing it all."
Henry pulled in front of the crippled vehicle and Jack hopped out.
"Boy are you in luck," he told Minnie.
He gave her an approving once over, liking what he saw and her frank demeanor.
"Not only do you get the world's most charming chauvinist, but his name is Jack -- just what y--"
"Automobile jack -- with a lower case j" she said. She said it with a smile that threatened to break out into a chuckle. "If you have that kind of jack and will lend it to me for fifteen minutes, I can change the tire myself."
Jack changed the tire, though. With Minnie standing over him, instructing him. Much to his dismay.
"You place the jack at this spot," she said, pointing. When he had the jack in place, she said, "Now you place the end of that little crank...." She continued with the simplest action, instructing Jack.
As he was placing Henry's equipment back into the Chevy's trunk, she giggled a bit and said, "I'm sorry if I upset you in any way. I just wanted you to see how it feels. Women are treated like that all the time. I'll make it up to you by buying you a soft drink at the game. Barb and I always go early to get good seats. You can sit with us."
"Uh -- we're from Beall High," he murmured.
"Like I don't know that."
"Some of the guys from--"
Her eyes flashed fire.
"They wouldn't dare," she interrupted. The second time she'd done that.
He believed her.
"Let's do this to send them a message so they won't mess up your car."
"Henry's car."
"His name is Henry? Okay. So they don't mess up Henry's car. There is only three or four bad eggs -- oops. Wrong term. Bad apples in the barrel. But, if we do this, they'll get the message to lay off."
"Do what?" he wanted to know.
"Give me a chance and I'll tell you. You ride to the game with me. Barb will ride with Henry."
"It'll look like we're dating," he said, a bit hesitant.
"That's okay. We'll just make it a date, then."
He looked at her and smiled.
"I've never been asked for a date before," he said.
She replied, "There's a time for everything. That's in the Bible, you know?"
"Yep," he said. "Ecclesiastes 3:1."
A Word of Hope
Larry Winebrenner
Revelation 21:1-6a
His name sounded like a theological term -- Benedictus. He was pastor of First United Methodist Church in Warsaw, Poland. He had been pastor there since World War II [WWII].
"This is the oldest Protestant church in Warsaw," he told a touring group from a Peace Conference in the 1980s. "I saved it with two bottles of wine during WWII."
Pastor Benedictus told of Hitler's vindictiveness in Warsaw. When the Soviets crossed the river, German troops withdrew. Hitler was so angry he ordered every building in Warsaw destroyed by dynamite.
When the young German soldier came to destroy the church, Benedictus offered him two bottles of fine wine not to destroy the building.
"For you see," Benedictus told his audience, "You may destroy a building with dynamite, but you can't destroy the Church with dynamite."
The young soldier said, "I will be in serious trouble if I don't destroy the building. But here is what I can do. I can cause the floors inside to collapse, but not the walls. The basic structure will remain and you can replace the floors."
Benedictus gave him the wine and the basic structure remained.
"But the Soviets were a greater threat to the Church than the Germans ever had been," said Benedictus. He continued the story of that church.
As the Poles resisted domination more and more, the social environment became more and more tense.
"It was a Saturday that the curfew was announced. No one was permitted on the streets after dark. Anyone found on the streets after dark would be arrested. It was an extreme police action.
"I had already prepared my Sunday sermon. But it was not adequate for this. Besides, with this turn of events, would anyone attend church? Would anyone dare defy the atheistic Communists who had exercised such extreme control over the city?
"The next day I went to church early. Already the sanctuary was full. By the time I stepped into the pulpit, not only were the main floor seats filled. So was the balcony. So were the aisles. So were the stairwells. Standing around next to the walls, there was such a crowd, they could hardly breathe.
"It seemed that all of Warsaw had tried to crowd into the church. 'What is the word of the Lord?' they seemed to be asking. My fellow clergy from all faiths throughout the city later told me it was the same everywhere.
"How could I peach? What could I say to these hungry souls?
"I opened my Bible and turned to Revelation 20 to John. I read the chapter. I did not preach. I did not explain. They understood.
"Then, for hope, I read chapter 21.
Then I saw "a new heaven and a new earth," for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.
I saw the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and the Lord will dwell with them. They will be God's people, and God's own self will be with them and be their God.
" 'The LORD will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
The One who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then the Almighty said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."
God said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life."
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
You were adopted
C. David McKirachan
Ephesians 1:3-14
In some ways I had a very strange childhood. Most preacher's kids do. But there is very little in that strange childhood that I would trade for something further toward the cultural mean. Yet there were moments when I was treated like a normal kid. I had siblings much older than myself, so they had more responsibility for the brat than they would have preferred. Once in a while the kid brother got treated like any other kid brother.
I remember one such day clearly. Having done my best to be a pain in the neck and other parts of the anatomy, I was given a secret. All little kids love secrets. My sister sat me down and very seriously whispered to me, "Did you know you're adopted?" I had no idea what that meant, but seeking to seem wise I shook my head, "No." My sister smiled. That was good, so I continued, "I had no idea." Then she laughed. It wasn't the laugh of a larger person putting down a smaller person, a laugh of domination and cruelty. It was a laugh of a big sister thinking her little brother was cute.
Later I asked the well of all practical knowledge, my mother, "What's adopted?" She descended on the question like a hawk on an unsuspecting gerbil.
"Where did you hear that?" I told her and she worked hard at not being horrified rather unsuccessfully. But then I got the 'precious' speech, which included bits and pieces from the labor and delivery saga of one Charles David McKirachan. In other words, NO WAY, I WAS THERE!
Though she was not happy about the whole thing, I thought the conversation was great. When I finally got a clear definition of "adopted" it still had that valence of special and kind of cool. They had worked so hard making it not a bad thing that it never occurred to me that it might be. My father being cued into the conversation went into a word study of the first chapter of Ephesians at dinner. Like I said, I had a weird childhood.
The part of the word study I understood came down on the "special" business even more solidly. I began to get jealous of these special people who'd had the privilege of being chosen rather than pushed out. I also remember the first time I met an adoptee. I told them it must be really cool to have that privilege. They weren't interested in Ephesians.
Paul agrees with me. Adoption, for him like any self-respecting Hebrew/educated Greek meant you were solidly included in the clan and eligible for inheritance. Pretty cool. Now how many times can anybody say with certitude that Paul agrees with them. I don't know when older siblings got off on the wrong track and started making it second class to be included like this.
There are a lot of kids not to mention animals waiting to be treated as special. I think they would agree with Paul too. It's pretty cool to be brought into the family.
Hey, if God liked the strategy, who is dumb enough to disagree with Him.
I doubt my sister saw it that way after my mother got through with her.
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).
* * *
How do you know a savior, when you see him? With prophecies and long traditions to guide them, the people of Israel had understandable preconceptions about what a messiah would -- and would not -- look like. John tells us that Jesus was often not even recognized for who he was among his own people -- but then again, how would they know? Indeed, put in their position now, how would we know? Keith Hewitt's story, "Behold the Man," shows us two men who are making these decisions.
Behold the Man
Keith Hewitt
John 1:(1-9) 10-18
"Him?"
Jacob packed a lot into the single word, imbuing the simple pronoun with much deeper meaning through the tone of his voice and the way he held his body, the expression on his face.
The object of this exercise of body language and subtext stood on a flattened stone about fifty yards away, down in a hollow formed by two hills. A couple of dozen men -- and a few women -- were gathered around him, some standing, some sitting on the ground, some resting on the trunk of a tree that had fallen to form a bench, of sorts. The man was taller than most -- though that perception might have been distorted by the rock on which he stood -- and was dressed in a simple linen garment that could have used a good cleaning and some mending.
His face -- what Jacob could see of it -- was ordinary; his voice -- what Jacob could hear of it -- matched his face. The wind obliged Jacob a few times by carrying snatches of sentences up to the ridge on which he stood, and the man's Galilean accent came through loud and clear, thick enough to slice and serve for dinner.
"He sounds like a peasant, and looks like a laborer," Jacob judged.
"From what I understand, his father was a laborer," Samuel answered. "I suppose it is reasonable to assume that he is one, too."
Jacob shook his head, looked sideways at the finely robed man who stood next to him. "You brought me out here for this?" He waved a dismissive hand toward the hollow. "He is a cipher, a nothing -- a waste of time."
"And yet, people follow him. You see them down there, listening -- hanging on his every word."
Jacob shook his head, clucking his tongue sympathetically. "Samuel, Samuel -- you are such an innocent man in so many ways. Wait until you have lived as long as I have, and served the way I have served. Then you will know."
"Know what, Jacob?"
"We are not a strong nation, Samuel. We have been occupied many times, by many kingdoms, and because of that we have a sickness -- a burning need to be great again. Our prophets tell us that someone is coming to save us, to restore us to a place of strength and honor, and naturally we believe them. Over time, this takes its toll, particularly on the uneducated. March anyone with a strong voice and a passing knowledge of scripture through any part of Israel, and he will come away with a following. False prophets -- false messiahs -- are ten to a shekel. Twenty during a drought, or other hard times."
Jacob turned away from the scene in the hollow, beckoned for his servants, who stood a decent distance away. "Pass that man on a busy street, and you would not look twice at him," he concluded. "At least that baptizing wild man stood out in a crowd, with his hair shirt and wild eyes."
The two men stood silently for a few moments, as Jacob's servants brought up the sedan chair. As they arrived, Samuel said quietly, "It was the baptizer who said this man was special. He said this man was sent by God."
Jacob chuckled. "I said the baptizer stood out in a crowd -- not that he was a prophet or a scholar. The man is obviously mad as a March hare -- and the way he rails against Herod, he's going to find himself dead or imprisoned one day soon: one less rabble rouser making trouble in the countryside." The old man looked at Samuel curiously. "You're not starting to believe this nonsense, are you?"
"Nonsense?"
"This Messiah nonsense. It's good for the regular people, Samuel, but those of us who know better must keep ourselves from being infected with the madness. The common people need the promise of a deliverer to give them hope, to get them through the day. We're much better off -- with a full belly and coins in our purse now, we don't have to wait and hope for a messiah who will give them to us some time in the future."
Samuel studied the old man, let the words Jacob had spoken become mortar to hold together some of the bits of understanding -- real understanding -- that had started to solidify in his mind. "So you don't believe in the prophecies?" he asked slowly, choosing his words carefully.
The old man shrugged. "Let me answer that twice, Samuel. First, the prophets were men, just like you and I -- and as such, I suspect that not everything they told us is necessarily literally true, or will necessarily come to pass. I think it's possible they misunderstood what God told them. Some of the more outlandish things are just beyond reason, and we must use our God-given brains to determine what makes sense and what doesn't.
"And second -- well, maybe the great Messiah will come to pass, some time in the far distant future. But it will happen with or without us, and I don't expect that it will be in my lifetime or yours. We face too many great enemies to have this make sense now."
"I see," said Samuel slowly -- and really did see, for the first time. "But what if the savior of prophecy is not a warrior savior -- what if he's not here to throw off the shackles of bondage to earthly masters, but to release us from bondage to those things we can't see -- to evil, and sin, and fear? Our own evil -- cynical -- natures?"
Jacob frowned. "Where do you get this nonsense, boy?"
Samuel nodded back toward the hollow on the other side of the hill, now. "I've listened to the man, Jacob. I listened to the baptizer, and now I listen to this man. The kind of salvation they speak of us different."
The old man was silent for a few moments, as he pushed aside the curtain on the sedan chair and then climbed in. The chair bowed slightly as the bearers took up the weight and then steadied so Jacob was at head-height as he sat suspended between the four of them. He leaned out and looked directly at Samuel. "I'm afraid I have kept you idle too long, Samuel. Come back with me, and I will find you a proper position -- something that will keep your head out of the clouds. There is work to be done, Samuel. Good work. Honest work."
The younger man looked at his elder as he pondered the invitation and then nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "there is good work to be done."
Then without another word he turned away and made his way to the hollow where the Galilean spoke.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). He is a lay speaker, co-youth leader, and former Sunday school teacher at Wilmot United Methodist Church in Wilmot, Wisconsin. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife and two children.
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StoryShare, January 1-2, 6, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
