Until Found
Stories
Object:
Contents
A Story to Live By: "Until Found"
Shining Moments: "Can Trust Be Restored?" by Lois Rae Carlson
Good Stories: "The Lost Dog" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Will You Rejoice?" by John Sumwalt
This coming Sunday is Rally Day in our church. We return to our regular three-service schedule, and Sunday school classes resume. Many of our members and constituents who have not seen the inside of a church since the Sunday before Memorial Day will be back with shining faces and summer tans, ready to resume their place in the Kingdom -- or at least in the pew. And they will be welcomed home with a sermon on the parable of the lost sheep. Jesus asks the Pharisees "Will you rejoice when the lost are found?" -- even when those who have been lost are people you would rather not sit down with for Sunday dinner? It is an especially difficult question to face when you have been out of practice. Perhaps a spoonful of sugar will help the medicine go down?
I may begin the sermon with a parable that is easier to swallow:
A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of the dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the shepherd, "If I tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will you give me one?"
The shepherd looked at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looked at his peacefully grazing flock and calmly answered, "Sure."
The yuppie parked his car, whipped out his IBM Thinkpad, and connected it to a cell phone. Then he surfed to a NASA page on the internet, where he called up a GPS satellite navigation system and scanned the area, and then opened up a database and an Excel spreadsheet with complex formulas. He sent an e-mail on his BlackBerry, and after a few minutes received a response. Finally, he printed out a 130-page report on his miniaturized printer, then turned to the shepherd and said, "You have exactly 1,586 sheep."
"That is correct; take one of the sheep," said the shepherd. He watched the young man select one of the animals and bundle it into his car. Then the shepherd said, "If I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my animal?"
"OK, why not," answered the young man.
"Clearly, you are a consultant," said the shepherd.
"That's correct," said the yuppie. "But how did you guess that?"
"No guessing required," answered the shepherd. "You turned up here, although nobody called you. You want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked, and you don't know about my business... now give me back my dog!"
Check out John's "Lost Dog" story in Good Stories, and see more of his reflections on the parable of the lost sheep in the Scrap Pile.
A Story to Live By
Until Found
"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices."
Luke 15:4-5
Father M. Basil Pennington writes in his book Lectio Divina about a personal encounter with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. Her mission in life was to show compassion for the poor and dying by caring for their needs with love. She gave dignity to those who had only known rejection and insult.
On this particular day, the nuns had made their usual rounds at the depots where the poor and dying were left by their families. A man was brought in who was dying. He had been left for dead. Rats had gnawed his extremities and maggots had eaten much of his flesh down to the bone. Mother Teresa personally cared for this man. As she washed his body and prayed over him, he regained consciousness. He said two words: "Thank you." And then he died.
Shining Moments
Can Trust Be Restored?
by Lois Rae Carlson
The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God.
Psalm 14:2
It was the end of my first year as a young widow on my own with two children. We'd just moved to Chicago. My parents wanted to give me some time alone, so my dad met the moving van, helped my children unpack boxes, and took them off to music camp. I was being given an incredible gift of freedom after a year of coping with the loss of my husband and learning the pace of single parenthood.
With my move over and the children in good hands, I took some friends up on an offer to use their chalet in Switzerland in the hamlet of Le Breona, near the town of La Forclas, to be alone and devote time to getting to know God better. Before long, I was on an Alpine trail hiking the two-hour trek up the mountain.
But instead of freedom, I was feeling anguish. At first I thought it was only a side effect of exhaustion from the move, the long flight from the United States, and the strenuous hike. But as I sat alone in the chalet's terrace, I saw that while I had expected to be feeling closer to God, I was actually questioning His very existence. I was consumed with bitterness about my husband's passing and with fear for my children's future -- and my own. I felt stupid and naive to have ever believed in God.
On top of feeling I'd lost touch with God, I suddenly realized that when my friend had led me to the chalet, I'd been so dazed by fatigue that I hadn't paid attention to the careful directions he gave me. And I was expected to be able to navigate the mountain on my own, going down to the village in the valley for more supplies.
As I sat there, I wasn't even sure in which direction the village was! The trail was full of hairpin curves with side paths to the other side of the mountain. I had only three days worth of provisions. I pleaded to God for help, but I had absolutely no conviction that there was any other power at hand than my own attempt to calm my fear.
By the third day, I had only a small bit of cheese and bread left, and I knew I had to do something. As I looked out from the terrace, I noticed a flagpole several hundred yards down the mountain. A magnificent Swiss flag was flying there. I remembered passing it on the way up. I realized that using the flagpole as a marker, I could begin my journey down the mountain accurately. So I set off. But when I got to the flagpole, I felt completely stymied, not knowing whether to go right or left. Again, I prayed, but again, it felt like a futile exercise.
At that moment I heard the sound of a tractor engine, far down the mountain, but in a specific direction. I remembered that at the base of the climb there was a road paralleling the footpath for a short distance before the path turned upward. From there, it was clear to me which face of the mountain I was to stay on. Looking carefully for signs, I saw the huge pile of rocks my friend had pointed out as a landmark. I knew the sight line to the flagpole must be clear from there. Before long, excited and relieved, I found the village.
From then on, my days at the chalet were magical. Understanding now the basics of orienteering, I was all over the mountain -- way beyond the tree line and down to other villages. For companionship I made friends with the marmots who were curious about my visits near their rock lair.
But despite my good humor, I still felt no peace about God. The hours of comfort and spiritual growth I'd expected from reading the Bible and Mary Baker Eddy's books were non-existent. Instead, I found those hours frustrating and confusing; I felt no connection with the words of the books. The basic questions of my life were going unanswered. My nights were long and sleepless and troubled. I could only look forward to the freedom of my daytime hikes.
Late one afternoon I hiked farther up the mountain than ever before. The view of the vast new glacier fields across the mountain range made them bigger than the sky. The joy of exploring the earth's beauty overwhelmed me. I'd never had that kind of experience before.
Then, suddenly, I lost my footing in the loose glacier rock and slid painfully down the slope I had just climbed. I tried to get up, but my foot wouldn't support my weight. Dread set in. The bare expanse of this mountain face offered no shelter; and I knew that without extra clothing, I couldn't be safe there through the night.
The feeling of danger brought all the bitterness I'd felt about my husband's passing to the forefront. I saw my own worst fear: that I would be left alone on the earth, vulnerable and unsupported.
This time, I refused to pray. I cried again every tear of self-pity I'd ever cried before. I don't know how long I lay there in the rough gravel. The sun was setting very fast. I didn't even care what happened to me.
Then I noticed a sound. It was the small, simple sound of water -- the glacier melt -- trickling down the mountain. I'd noticed it before, but this time it struck me as the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard -- nature's symphony. I felt the gentlest breeze on my face, cooling the heat of my tears. Then I felt, again, the stillness that for decades had characterized my faith.
"I am here," said an inner voice. "Now and always. It has always been Me."
I knew this was the voice of God telling me that all the good I had ever experienced in my life, all the beauty of those innocent pleasures of my days in the Alps, had been signs of God's love for me. And I saw that my husband had never really been the source of my care and support. He was, of course, an essential proof of God's unchanging love. The forms of the love shown to me would come and go, but the love itself was constant. At that moment, I knew I could give up the disappointment in my life by understanding that the source of that love could never be altered.
Fully convinced that I was in the presence of the Divine, I stood up spontaneously. My ankle had been so swollen I couldn't remove my boot. But now it was suddenly strong and flexible. Carefully, I maneuvered through the crushed rock and found the trail back to the chalet. I arrived just as twilight began to welcome the stars.
Many metaphors came out of my days on that mountain. The orienteering skills have reminded me, in many moments of doubt and confusion, that the Ten Commandments are reliable guides to get me off the mountains of pride and self-will. When I lose faith in God's care for me, those are almost invariably the issues -- wanting something I can't have, thinking I know better that God how things ought to be, and thinking I want to do things on my own. But we can't do anything alone. Every breath, blink, and swallow show God's grace -- unearned and operating in ways that nurture, support, and draw us to the origin of all the good.
Maybe that's the point -- the good in our lives. In many languages, good is the name for God. How often I've overlooked the good -- or belittled and dismissed it. But I'm learning to recognize the good things in life, no matter how small they may seem. And to honor the source of goodness. Even during the hardest times, we can thank God for holding us, and never believe that His absence -- a vacuum -- could be true.
What it all boils down to for me is that God initiates our relationship to Him. He gives us the desire to know Him -- and the means for doing so. It's God's intention that we know how we are being loved.
Reproduced with permission. (c) 2002 Christian Science Sentinel (http://www.cssentinel.com). All rights reserved.
Lois Rae Carlson is a lifelong Christian Scientist, a member of Second Church of Christ, Scientist in Evanston, Illinois. As a Christian Science practitioner, she has been in the full-time healing ministry since 1976. She teaches an annual class in healing. A well-known writer, her articles can be found in the Christian Science Journal, Sentinel, and Monitor, as well as on the website http://www.spirituality.com.
Good Stories
The Lost Dog
by John Sumwalt
"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices."
Luke 15:4-5
There was once an old man who had a little spotted dog. The dog was part black lab, part dalmatian, part chihuahua, a little German shepherd, some French poodle, great dane, Russian wolfhound, Irish setter, golden retriever, bloodhound, Alaskan husky, springer spaniel, collie, rottweiler, akita, west highland terrier, greyhound, beagle, dachshund, bulldog, st. bernard -- your basic street-bred mutt -- but the old man loved him because he was all he had. They were constant companions, going everywhere and doing everything together. Every night the dog slept at the foot of the old man's bed.
Then one day the dog disappeared. He was playing in the yard one moment, and the next thing the old man knew he was gone. The old man searched everywhere for him -- looked on every street corner, around every corner, and talked to every neighbor -- but the dog was nowhere to be found. The old man searched all over the town, calling out the dog's name as he went, listening in vain for his familiar bark. The next day was the same, and the one after that... for weeks the old man searched, until finally his neighbors and friends convinced him that there was no use in looking anymore. Surely the dog is dead, they said, hit by a car, no doubt, and crawled off by himself to die.
Still, the old man would not give up. Every night before bed, he went out on the porch and called out the little dog's name at the top of his voice. This went on for several months. The neighbors were certain that the old man had lost his mind; they thought maybe somebody should put him in a home. And then one night as the old man was calling his name, the little spotted dog came home. The old man never knew where he had been or what caused him to stay away so long, but he was very glad that he had never stopped calling his name. (Our God is the one who never stops calling our names.)
John frequently tells this story at the opening of his storytelling concerts -- and always adds the line in parentheses above: "Our God is the one who never stops calling our names." God keeps calling and calling, looking and looking, until we come home.
Scrap Pile
Will You Rejoice?
by John Sumwalt
"And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' "
Luke 15:6
A number of years ago, Dear Abby printed the story of a young man from a wealthy family who was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in that affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a new car. Bill and his father had spent many months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect car. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine his disappointment when, on the eve of graduation, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry he threw the Bible down and stormed out of the house. He and his father never saw each other again. It was the news of his father's death that brought Bill home again. As he sat one night going through his father's possessions that he was to inherit, he came across the Bible his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier's check, dated the day of the graduation, in the exact amount of the new car they had chosen together.
Have you ever been lost like that?
There are many ways to get lost in life. Often we are lost because of our own stupidity and stubbornness. Fortunately for all of us, there is one who never gives up on us.
The parable of the lost sheep came about one day when Jesus overheard some of the Pharisees grumbling about his practice of eating dinner with sinners. He said, "Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep?" He lost most of the Pharisees right there. No self-respecting Pharisee could imagine being a shepherd. Shepherds were counted among those who were engaged in dishonorable occupations, along with peddlers, donkey drivers, and prostitutes. They were considered to be dishonest as a class. All of them were believed to be thieves. They could not hold office or testify in court.
It would be like saying to you, "Suppose one of you was a successful director of porn films, and losing your most popular star to cocaine addiction, takes her to a treatment center and keeps her there until she is well?" Or "Which one of you, having a lover of 25 years who is dying from an AIDS-related tumor, does not leave your job and all of your social obligations, and stay with him day and night and do everything you can to ease his pain?"
If you heard either of these with horror and astonishment then you know how the scribes and Pharisees heard the parable of the lost sheep. That part of the parable usually escapes us because we tend to romanticize shepherds, associating them only with the Christmas story. We don't think of them as smelly, dirty, and dishonest. The Pharisees did, and therein is found the power of the parable.
"This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them" (v. 15:2b). This was the last straw for the Pharisees. It was bad enough that Jesus would associate with sinners, but eating with them was more than they could bear. To understand this reaction we need to know something about how meals were viewed by the Jews. Among the Jews, and throughout middle eastern culture even today, every meal is sacred. To invite a person to a meal is an honor, an offer of peace, trust, brotherhood, and forgiveness. When President Anwar Sadat of Egypt sat down for a meal with Prime Minister Menachem Begin of Israel at Camp David with President Jimmy Carter, their two peoples watching on television were struck more by their act of table fellowship than by the peace treaty they signed later. Sharing a meal indicates a willingness to share life together.
This is what the Pharisees were not willing to do with people they considered to be unclean. They would not share life with sinners. Indeed, it was their strongly held belief that by keeping themselves separate from everyone and everything their law deemed unclean, they could hasten the coming of the Messiah. And yet, when the Messiah did come, who welcomed him? Not the Pharisees, but the sinners they had rejected.
Jesus' parables always call for a decision on the part of the hearer. Here Jesus is asking the Pharisees to decide -- will you rejoice with the shepherd? Luke doesn't tell us how the Pharisees responded. What he does report is Jesus' own interpretation of the parable's meaning. This was the punch line. If the shepherd business didn't arouse the Pharisees' ire, this surely did. Jesus said, "In the same way, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine respectable persons who have no need to repent."
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wesley United Methodist Church in Kenosha, Wisconsin, on September 6, 1992.
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New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. Click on the title above for information about how to order. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A, which begins in December.
Other 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
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; 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.)
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StoryShare, September 12, 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.
A Story to Live By: "Until Found"
Shining Moments: "Can Trust Be Restored?" by Lois Rae Carlson
Good Stories: "The Lost Dog" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Will You Rejoice?" by John Sumwalt
This coming Sunday is Rally Day in our church. We return to our regular three-service schedule, and Sunday school classes resume. Many of our members and constituents who have not seen the inside of a church since the Sunday before Memorial Day will be back with shining faces and summer tans, ready to resume their place in the Kingdom -- or at least in the pew. And they will be welcomed home with a sermon on the parable of the lost sheep. Jesus asks the Pharisees "Will you rejoice when the lost are found?" -- even when those who have been lost are people you would rather not sit down with for Sunday dinner? It is an especially difficult question to face when you have been out of practice. Perhaps a spoonful of sugar will help the medicine go down?
I may begin the sermon with a parable that is easier to swallow:
A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced out of the dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a YSL tie, leaned out the window and asked the shepherd, "If I tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will you give me one?"
The shepherd looked at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looked at his peacefully grazing flock and calmly answered, "Sure."
The yuppie parked his car, whipped out his IBM Thinkpad, and connected it to a cell phone. Then he surfed to a NASA page on the internet, where he called up a GPS satellite navigation system and scanned the area, and then opened up a database and an Excel spreadsheet with complex formulas. He sent an e-mail on his BlackBerry, and after a few minutes received a response. Finally, he printed out a 130-page report on his miniaturized printer, then turned to the shepherd and said, "You have exactly 1,586 sheep."
"That is correct; take one of the sheep," said the shepherd. He watched the young man select one of the animals and bundle it into his car. Then the shepherd said, "If I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my animal?"
"OK, why not," answered the young man.
"Clearly, you are a consultant," said the shepherd.
"That's correct," said the yuppie. "But how did you guess that?"
"No guessing required," answered the shepherd. "You turned up here, although nobody called you. You want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked, and you don't know about my business... now give me back my dog!"
Check out John's "Lost Dog" story in Good Stories, and see more of his reflections on the parable of the lost sheep in the Scrap Pile.
A Story to Live By
Until Found
"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices."
Luke 15:4-5
Father M. Basil Pennington writes in his book Lectio Divina about a personal encounter with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. Her mission in life was to show compassion for the poor and dying by caring for their needs with love. She gave dignity to those who had only known rejection and insult.
On this particular day, the nuns had made their usual rounds at the depots where the poor and dying were left by their families. A man was brought in who was dying. He had been left for dead. Rats had gnawed his extremities and maggots had eaten much of his flesh down to the bone. Mother Teresa personally cared for this man. As she washed his body and prayed over him, he regained consciousness. He said two words: "Thank you." And then he died.
Shining Moments
Can Trust Be Restored?
by Lois Rae Carlson
The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God.
Psalm 14:2
It was the end of my first year as a young widow on my own with two children. We'd just moved to Chicago. My parents wanted to give me some time alone, so my dad met the moving van, helped my children unpack boxes, and took them off to music camp. I was being given an incredible gift of freedom after a year of coping with the loss of my husband and learning the pace of single parenthood.
With my move over and the children in good hands, I took some friends up on an offer to use their chalet in Switzerland in the hamlet of Le Breona, near the town of La Forclas, to be alone and devote time to getting to know God better. Before long, I was on an Alpine trail hiking the two-hour trek up the mountain.
But instead of freedom, I was feeling anguish. At first I thought it was only a side effect of exhaustion from the move, the long flight from the United States, and the strenuous hike. But as I sat alone in the chalet's terrace, I saw that while I had expected to be feeling closer to God, I was actually questioning His very existence. I was consumed with bitterness about my husband's passing and with fear for my children's future -- and my own. I felt stupid and naive to have ever believed in God.
On top of feeling I'd lost touch with God, I suddenly realized that when my friend had led me to the chalet, I'd been so dazed by fatigue that I hadn't paid attention to the careful directions he gave me. And I was expected to be able to navigate the mountain on my own, going down to the village in the valley for more supplies.
As I sat there, I wasn't even sure in which direction the village was! The trail was full of hairpin curves with side paths to the other side of the mountain. I had only three days worth of provisions. I pleaded to God for help, but I had absolutely no conviction that there was any other power at hand than my own attempt to calm my fear.
By the third day, I had only a small bit of cheese and bread left, and I knew I had to do something. As I looked out from the terrace, I noticed a flagpole several hundred yards down the mountain. A magnificent Swiss flag was flying there. I remembered passing it on the way up. I realized that using the flagpole as a marker, I could begin my journey down the mountain accurately. So I set off. But when I got to the flagpole, I felt completely stymied, not knowing whether to go right or left. Again, I prayed, but again, it felt like a futile exercise.
At that moment I heard the sound of a tractor engine, far down the mountain, but in a specific direction. I remembered that at the base of the climb there was a road paralleling the footpath for a short distance before the path turned upward. From there, it was clear to me which face of the mountain I was to stay on. Looking carefully for signs, I saw the huge pile of rocks my friend had pointed out as a landmark. I knew the sight line to the flagpole must be clear from there. Before long, excited and relieved, I found the village.
From then on, my days at the chalet were magical. Understanding now the basics of orienteering, I was all over the mountain -- way beyond the tree line and down to other villages. For companionship I made friends with the marmots who were curious about my visits near their rock lair.
But despite my good humor, I still felt no peace about God. The hours of comfort and spiritual growth I'd expected from reading the Bible and Mary Baker Eddy's books were non-existent. Instead, I found those hours frustrating and confusing; I felt no connection with the words of the books. The basic questions of my life were going unanswered. My nights were long and sleepless and troubled. I could only look forward to the freedom of my daytime hikes.
Late one afternoon I hiked farther up the mountain than ever before. The view of the vast new glacier fields across the mountain range made them bigger than the sky. The joy of exploring the earth's beauty overwhelmed me. I'd never had that kind of experience before.
Then, suddenly, I lost my footing in the loose glacier rock and slid painfully down the slope I had just climbed. I tried to get up, but my foot wouldn't support my weight. Dread set in. The bare expanse of this mountain face offered no shelter; and I knew that without extra clothing, I couldn't be safe there through the night.
The feeling of danger brought all the bitterness I'd felt about my husband's passing to the forefront. I saw my own worst fear: that I would be left alone on the earth, vulnerable and unsupported.
This time, I refused to pray. I cried again every tear of self-pity I'd ever cried before. I don't know how long I lay there in the rough gravel. The sun was setting very fast. I didn't even care what happened to me.
Then I noticed a sound. It was the small, simple sound of water -- the glacier melt -- trickling down the mountain. I'd noticed it before, but this time it struck me as the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard -- nature's symphony. I felt the gentlest breeze on my face, cooling the heat of my tears. Then I felt, again, the stillness that for decades had characterized my faith.
"I am here," said an inner voice. "Now and always. It has always been Me."
I knew this was the voice of God telling me that all the good I had ever experienced in my life, all the beauty of those innocent pleasures of my days in the Alps, had been signs of God's love for me. And I saw that my husband had never really been the source of my care and support. He was, of course, an essential proof of God's unchanging love. The forms of the love shown to me would come and go, but the love itself was constant. At that moment, I knew I could give up the disappointment in my life by understanding that the source of that love could never be altered.
Fully convinced that I was in the presence of the Divine, I stood up spontaneously. My ankle had been so swollen I couldn't remove my boot. But now it was suddenly strong and flexible. Carefully, I maneuvered through the crushed rock and found the trail back to the chalet. I arrived just as twilight began to welcome the stars.
Many metaphors came out of my days on that mountain. The orienteering skills have reminded me, in many moments of doubt and confusion, that the Ten Commandments are reliable guides to get me off the mountains of pride and self-will. When I lose faith in God's care for me, those are almost invariably the issues -- wanting something I can't have, thinking I know better that God how things ought to be, and thinking I want to do things on my own. But we can't do anything alone. Every breath, blink, and swallow show God's grace -- unearned and operating in ways that nurture, support, and draw us to the origin of all the good.
Maybe that's the point -- the good in our lives. In many languages, good is the name for God. How often I've overlooked the good -- or belittled and dismissed it. But I'm learning to recognize the good things in life, no matter how small they may seem. And to honor the source of goodness. Even during the hardest times, we can thank God for holding us, and never believe that His absence -- a vacuum -- could be true.
What it all boils down to for me is that God initiates our relationship to Him. He gives us the desire to know Him -- and the means for doing so. It's God's intention that we know how we are being loved.
Reproduced with permission. (c) 2002 Christian Science Sentinel (http://www.cssentinel.com). All rights reserved.
Lois Rae Carlson is a lifelong Christian Scientist, a member of Second Church of Christ, Scientist in Evanston, Illinois. As a Christian Science practitioner, she has been in the full-time healing ministry since 1976. She teaches an annual class in healing. A well-known writer, her articles can be found in the Christian Science Journal, Sentinel, and Monitor, as well as on the website http://www.spirituality.com.
Good Stories
The Lost Dog
by John Sumwalt
"Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices."
Luke 15:4-5
There was once an old man who had a little spotted dog. The dog was part black lab, part dalmatian, part chihuahua, a little German shepherd, some French poodle, great dane, Russian wolfhound, Irish setter, golden retriever, bloodhound, Alaskan husky, springer spaniel, collie, rottweiler, akita, west highland terrier, greyhound, beagle, dachshund, bulldog, st. bernard -- your basic street-bred mutt -- but the old man loved him because he was all he had. They were constant companions, going everywhere and doing everything together. Every night the dog slept at the foot of the old man's bed.
Then one day the dog disappeared. He was playing in the yard one moment, and the next thing the old man knew he was gone. The old man searched everywhere for him -- looked on every street corner, around every corner, and talked to every neighbor -- but the dog was nowhere to be found. The old man searched all over the town, calling out the dog's name as he went, listening in vain for his familiar bark. The next day was the same, and the one after that... for weeks the old man searched, until finally his neighbors and friends convinced him that there was no use in looking anymore. Surely the dog is dead, they said, hit by a car, no doubt, and crawled off by himself to die.
Still, the old man would not give up. Every night before bed, he went out on the porch and called out the little dog's name at the top of his voice. This went on for several months. The neighbors were certain that the old man had lost his mind; they thought maybe somebody should put him in a home. And then one night as the old man was calling his name, the little spotted dog came home. The old man never knew where he had been or what caused him to stay away so long, but he was very glad that he had never stopped calling his name. (Our God is the one who never stops calling our names.)
John frequently tells this story at the opening of his storytelling concerts -- and always adds the line in parentheses above: "Our God is the one who never stops calling our names." God keeps calling and calling, looking and looking, until we come home.
Scrap Pile
Will You Rejoice?
by John Sumwalt
"And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' "
Luke 15:6
A number of years ago, Dear Abby printed the story of a young man from a wealthy family who was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in that affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a new car. Bill and his father had spent many months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect car. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine his disappointment when, on the eve of graduation, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry he threw the Bible down and stormed out of the house. He and his father never saw each other again. It was the news of his father's death that brought Bill home again. As he sat one night going through his father's possessions that he was to inherit, he came across the Bible his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier's check, dated the day of the graduation, in the exact amount of the new car they had chosen together.
Have you ever been lost like that?
There are many ways to get lost in life. Often we are lost because of our own stupidity and stubbornness. Fortunately for all of us, there is one who never gives up on us.
The parable of the lost sheep came about one day when Jesus overheard some of the Pharisees grumbling about his practice of eating dinner with sinners. He said, "Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep?" He lost most of the Pharisees right there. No self-respecting Pharisee could imagine being a shepherd. Shepherds were counted among those who were engaged in dishonorable occupations, along with peddlers, donkey drivers, and prostitutes. They were considered to be dishonest as a class. All of them were believed to be thieves. They could not hold office or testify in court.
It would be like saying to you, "Suppose one of you was a successful director of porn films, and losing your most popular star to cocaine addiction, takes her to a treatment center and keeps her there until she is well?" Or "Which one of you, having a lover of 25 years who is dying from an AIDS-related tumor, does not leave your job and all of your social obligations, and stay with him day and night and do everything you can to ease his pain?"
If you heard either of these with horror and astonishment then you know how the scribes and Pharisees heard the parable of the lost sheep. That part of the parable usually escapes us because we tend to romanticize shepherds, associating them only with the Christmas story. We don't think of them as smelly, dirty, and dishonest. The Pharisees did, and therein is found the power of the parable.
"This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them" (v. 15:2b). This was the last straw for the Pharisees. It was bad enough that Jesus would associate with sinners, but eating with them was more than they could bear. To understand this reaction we need to know something about how meals were viewed by the Jews. Among the Jews, and throughout middle eastern culture even today, every meal is sacred. To invite a person to a meal is an honor, an offer of peace, trust, brotherhood, and forgiveness. When President Anwar Sadat of Egypt sat down for a meal with Prime Minister Menachem Begin of Israel at Camp David with President Jimmy Carter, their two peoples watching on television were struck more by their act of table fellowship than by the peace treaty they signed later. Sharing a meal indicates a willingness to share life together.
This is what the Pharisees were not willing to do with people they considered to be unclean. They would not share life with sinners. Indeed, it was their strongly held belief that by keeping themselves separate from everyone and everything their law deemed unclean, they could hasten the coming of the Messiah. And yet, when the Messiah did come, who welcomed him? Not the Pharisees, but the sinners they had rejected.
Jesus' parables always call for a decision on the part of the hearer. Here Jesus is asking the Pharisees to decide -- will you rejoice with the shepherd? Luke doesn't tell us how the Pharisees responded. What he does report is Jesus' own interpretation of the parable's meaning. This was the punch line. If the shepherd business didn't arouse the Pharisees' ire, this surely did. Jesus said, "In the same way, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine respectable persons who have no need to repent."
Excerpts from a sermon preached at Wesley United Methodist Church in Kenosha, Wisconsin, on September 6, 1992.
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New Book
The third book in the vision series, Shining Moments: Visions of the Holy in Ordinary Lives (edited by John Sumwalt), is now available from CSS Publishing Company. Among the 60 contributing authors of these Chicken Soup for the Soul-like vignettes are Ralph Milton, Sandra Herrmann, Pamela J. Tinnin, Richard H. Gentzler Jr., David Michael Smith, Jodie Felton, Nancy Nichols, William Lee Rand, Gail Ingle, and Rosmarie Trapp, whose family story was told in the classic movie The Sound of Music. Click on the title above for information about how to order. The stories follow the lectionary for Cycle A, which begins in December.
Other 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
You can order any of our books on the CSS website; 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.)
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StoryShare, September 12, 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.
