We Can Be Changed
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Stories
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Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "We Can Be Changed"
Good Stories: "Marked by the Cross of Christ Forever" by Constance Berg
"Old Farmer" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "The Messenger" by Henry Scholberg
"Pastor John" by Elaine M. Ward
What's Up This Week
The startling figure of John the Baptist and his message of repentance and transformation take center stage in this week's edition of StoryShare. There's a powerful illustration of the new beginnings that John spoke of in A Story to Live By, as well as two stories about John-like preachers in the Scrap Pile (one is even a children's message perfect for sharing with your young disciples). In addition, there are two heartwarming stories that may stimulate listeners to think about whether our lives have truly "prepared the way" for the Lord.
A Story to Live By
We Can Be Changed
John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
Mark 1:4
The message that John preached didn't seem like very good news. John was telling the people that they had to change; that's what repentance is, radical change. The good news of Jesus is that we can change through the power of the gospel; we can start all over again.
A gifted homiletics professor told of his first day in algebra class. It was his second year of the subject, but he just couldn't seem to get it. He was paralyzed with fear and his stomach seemed as if it were bouncing up and down on a trampoline. A new teacher walked in. She looked a lot like the old teacher, and she was holding a book that looked a lot like last year's book. Before the class began, he thought he'd go up to the teacher and explain to her what a dunce he was with algebra. So he confessed his troubles -- but she wasn't interested. "Oh yes, that may be true... but that was before you had me as your teacher. You are going to find that I do things differently. I don't like to get students who have done well in algebra before they have me. Too many prejudices. I prefer getting people who don't know a lot about algebra so I can teach them from scratch." The student went back to his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a new beginning, and he could change with the help of his teacher.
That, my friends, is the good news of Jesus Christ. We can change; we can become new, loving, hopeful, joyful human beings, through the transforming power of Jesus Christ.
(From Lectionary Preaching Workbook [Series V, Cycle B] by Russell Anderson)
Good Stories
Marked by the Cross of Christ Forever
by Constance Berg
"I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."
Mark 1:8
Blaine sat in the chair, waiting for the doctor to tell him what the problem was. He had complained about headaches for a month, and the doctor had assured Blaine that as soon as his sinus infection cleared he would be fine. But a strong dose of antibiotics did not make the headaches go away. A CT scan was ordered.
On the way to the scan, time seemed to move very slowly for Blaine. His body seemed to be floating above the bed as he was wheeled through the hallways. He saw his life as a flashback as the technicians methodically did their work with the machine. It was as if he was watching them on a silent screen.
His wife, who had died several years before, smiled at him through his dream. His parents were hovering at a distance beside his grandparents. How good it was to remember them!
His dream took him to his children's baptisms. One by one, he recalled as the pastor had baptized each child, assuring them that they had entered the kingdom of God and were now a part of the family of God. Blaine remembered being embarrassed at his tears as the sign of the cross was made on each child's forehead. He had been so touched.
Blaine laughed at the thought. Yes, Blaine had been touched! Touched in that same way, long ago, when he himself was baptized. His parents had carried him to the baptismal font long ago, and the pastor had made a sign of the cross on Blaine's forehead, too. Blaine had entered the kingdom of God, a part of the family of God. Blaine smiled as he was wheeled back to his room. No matter what happened, God would never leave him.
The doctor interrupted his thoughts. He looked serious. There was a tumor on the pituitary gland that disrupted the sinus process. It would have to be removed, and the probability of malignancy was high. Blaine's heart rate was low and medications would have to be balanced. The doctor wanted to know how Blaine was feeling. "Good and bad; sad and happy." The doctor looked confused, saying he'd leave Blaine to process the diagnosis. He'd see Blaine in the morning.
Blaine smiled. Where would he even begin explaining to the good doctor?
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She holds degrees from California State University and Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary, and she has done graduate work at Fuller Theological Seminary. Berg is the author of Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Series II, Cycle B), from which this story is taken.
Old Farmer
by John Sumwalt
But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.
2 Peter 3:13-15a
In the little community of Willow Bluff in the hills of southwest Wisconsin, they tell this story about an old farmer by the name of Alfie Georgeson. I say old farmer because that's what everyone called him -- "Old Farmer."
The nickname originated one day during a bull session down at the filling station. It was what one might call a community christening. Some of the guys from the cheese factory were sitting around the cooler having a pop after work. Alfie walked in, looking like he always looked when he came into town. Junior Ridley took one look at him and said, "Alfie, you look like the original old farmer."
It was true. Alfie was never seen wearing anything but the uniform of his chosen profession, bib overalls. He had three pairs; one good striped pair which he wore only when he went into town, and two faded blue pairs which he wore for everyday. One was for wearing while the other was in the wash. The rest of the uniform was standard issue at any farm supply store: blue cotton work shirt, triple hook work boots, and co-op hat. That was Old Farmer.
The name stuck. After a while people began to say it to his face. "Hey, Old Farmer, how are you doing?" Alfie didn't mind. That's how he thought of himself, too.
Alfie loved the land. He owned 80 acres of bottom land, all tillable, which he farmed with a pair of Percheron horses. Alfie said they were the best work horses in the county, and there wasn't anyone around who would dispute it. Everybody else farmed with tractors. If they had work horses, they were only for show or maybe for pulling at the county fair.
Alfie's horses were for working. They had been pulling together for 20 years. They were like old friends. It wasn't that he was against motor-propelled machinery; he just never saw the need for it. The farm was paid for, it provided him and Elizabeth with a modest but adequate living, and the horses were able to do all of the pulling work that needed to be done. The rest Alfie did by hand -- he preferred it that way.
Long days were a way of life on the farm. Alfie's alarm clock went off precisely at 4:30 every morning. He went straight to the barn, fed and watered the livestock, cleaned the stalls, harnessed the horses, spread the manure, fed the chickens, and gathered the eggs. He was usually back at the house for breakfast by 7:00, and off to the fields by 7:30.
Field work was done at the horses' pace. When they tired, Alfie rested with them until they were ready to pull again. The end of the day came when the horses had had enough. Alfie never pushed them beyond their endurance, even when he was in a hurry to get something done. There would always be another day. They were usually back in the barn by 5:00, 5:30 at the latest.
The unharnessing was Alfie's favorite part of the day. The ritual had an almost sacramental quality for him. The horses always appreciated the rubdown, something they communicated to him in subtle ways that only an old farmer would understand. This and the warm aromas that filled the stalls, a combination of lathered leather, fresh hay, oats in the manger, and the pungent odor of the remains of same in the gutter under each horse's tail, made him feel that all was right with the world.
Elizabeth never got used to the fact that he brought these smells with him when he came into the house, although after 60 years she had learned to accept it as one of the givens of farm life. She had been a city girl, if you can call a town of 1,600 a city, the daughter of the banker no less. Alfie always said she'd never done a lick of work in her life till she came to the farm. It wasn't true, of course, but Alfie liked to tease her about it just the same. Elizabeth loved Alfie. "My dear old farmer," she used to say when she talked about him with her close friends. She would have been perfectly content only if he would have gone to church with her once in a while. Once or twice a year would have been enough, but he would never go.
It wasn't that Alfie didn't love God. Elizabeth knew that his communication with the Creator was continual. It was part of the rhythm of his life, not in any formal way, of course (they never said grace before meals except on a few occasions when a preacher came to visit); but she knew that God was always in his thoughts as he worked the land. He said so once, and she knew it was so because she could see it in his face as she watched him work. It was probably just that he didn't like crowds. Alfie didn't feel comfortable when there were a lot of people around, so he never went anywhere there was going to be a crowd.
He could have liked to gone for Elizabeth's sake; he had almost brought himself to do it on several occasions, but after all those years of not going it would have been an event. He didn't think he could take all the smiles and self-satisfied looks as people congratulated him and patted him on the back. He knew what they would be thinking: "It's good to see you in church, you old goat! It's about time. Where have you been all of these years?" So he could never bring himself to go, even for Elizabeth's sake. It was a weakness, he knew, but he had never been able to overcome it.
There had been only one exception to this long-standing rule, and Elizabeth never forgot it. It happened on a Christmas Eve. Elizabeth sang in the choir, and when she looked out that particular night just as the service was about to begin she couldn't believe her eyes. There was Alfie, sitting in the back row of their little church with the five Enderman kids. He had on his good striped overalls and he looked terribly uncomfortable, but there he was.
Elizabeth found out later why he was there. He told her the kids brought him, but it had been the other way around.
The Enderman family lived about a quarter of a mile up the road. They were only there for about a year. Their dad drank and could never hold a job for long, so the family moved around from one rundown farmhouse to another. But while they were there, the kids came over regularly to see Alfie and Elizabeth. They would talk to Alfie while he worked in the barn, and sometimes he would give them a ride in the haywagon. Then they would all go up to the house and Elizabeth would get out the milk and cookies.
That Christmas Eve Elizabeth left early to rehearse with the choir before the service. When the kids came over, Alfie discovered that they knew very little about Christmas. They didn't have a Christmas tree; they didn't expect many presents, and they knew nothing about the birth of Jesus. It didn't seem right to Alfie that any child should grow up without hearing the Christmas story. So he hitched up the horses (Elizabeth had the car), threw some blankets and hay in the back of the wagon, packed the kids in, and brought them to church.
Elizabeth learned all of this when they took a tree and the presents over to their house the next day.
After that, Elizabeth picked up the Enderman kids and took them to church every Sunday. She even got their mom to go once in a while. But once had been enough for Alfie. He never went back.
On Sunday mornings while Elizabeth was in church Alfie would curry the horses and catch up on little odd jobs around the barn. He spent most of his leisure time in the barn. That was just where he wanted to be. And that was where Elizabeth found him that Sunday morning after church. She went to the house first, as she always did, and she didn't go to look for him until long after lunch was ready and she realized he hadn't come in to wash up at the usual time. She found him propped up against a bale of hay. He looked like he always looked when he fell asleep in the easy chair after supper. The doctor told her later that Alfie's heart just gave out, and said he was surprised that Alfie was able to go on as long as he had.
The church was full on the day of the funeral. Everybody loved "Old Farmer." Elizabeth didn't remember much of what was said. She did remember the fuss everyone made about the horses. She saw to it that Alfie's casket was placed on a haywagon and drawn to the cemetery by his beloved Percherons. Everybody said it was just the right touch.
And she remembered the preacher reading the familiar words from John:
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go now to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going. (John 14:2-4)
She repeated the words in her mind over and over again as she tried in vain to go to sleep that night. Did Alfie know the way? Could Christ in his infinite mercy make a place for him, too?
Author's Note: "Old Farmer" is dedicated to the memory of my father, Alvin Leonard Sumwalt, and Frank Brown, two old farmers who were part of the inspiration for this story.
Scrap Pile
The Messenger
by Henry Scholberg
They were proud of their church -- ''Proud as punch!'' they always said. ''The True Gospel Church is the finest church in the whole state,'' Rev. Carton declared on more than one occasion, and he didn't need prompting to declare it.
But Rev. Carton died suddenly, and that was that. He had been pastor of the flock longer than anyone could remember. When he ''passed on'' at the age of 87, there was no ordained person to preside over his funeral so the elders elected Brother Roberts to say a few appropriate words by the graveside.
Among those at the cemetery was a black man, Willi Brown. He had hopped off the freight train as it rambled through town. He approached Brother Roberts after the service and said to him, ''So you lost your preacher, huh?''
''Yes, my friend. What's it to you?''
''I'm a preacher, and I believe the Lord kicked me off that train just so I could come and take over Brother Carton's flock.''
''How can you be a preacher? You're a hobo.''
''Don't knock me till you've heard me, Brother.''
''I'll have to take it up with the Board of Elders.''
Willi Brown put himself to work around the True Gospel Church. He mowed the lawn, he mopped the floors, he dusted the pews, and he even tuned the piano. Widow Johnson gave him his ''vittles'' that first day and let him sleep in her tool shed that night. True to his word, Brother Roberts brought up the matter of Willi Brown at the Board of Elders meeting. He was Willi's best advocate with an overpowering argument: ''We don't have any choice. There's nobody in town who can preach. Let's see how he does on Sunday and go from there.''
Willi gave a fine sermon that first Sunday, and he was hired. But the sermons he gave on each succeeding Sunday were more and more disturbing. He was bringing a message of repentance, and that, along with his shabby appearance, led to a great deal of criticism. They offered to buy him ''a real nice suit,'' but he said, ''It doesn't matter what a man wears if his soul isn't in tatters. Did Jesus go around in a real nice suit?'' It was not long before Willi's color also became a point of issue and people started using the "n-word." For many in this rural town, it was their first encounter with anyone of color. Church attendance dropped off sharply and suddenly. Vern the grocer claimed that Willi ''just ain't comfortin' the way Rev. Carton was.''
Finally the time came for Willi's last sermon. ''I'm leaving you,'' he said, ''because I've done my work. I guess I disturbed a few folks, so I want you all to think of me as John the Baptist, a voice crying in the wilderness, preparing the way for one greater than me. And how will you know him? He will come like a thief in the night, and you will know him not.''
Willi stepped down from the pulpit, and with his head held high he walked down the aisle and out of the church. They never saw him again.
Henry Scholberg was born and spent most of his childhood in India, where his parents served for nearly four decades Methodist missionaries. He is an award-winning playwright and actor who has written and directed numerous religious plays for churches, community theater, and television. Now retired, Scholberg was the director of the Ames Library of South Asia at the University of Minnesota for 25 years. He is the author of The Golden Bells and In the Time of Trial.
Pastor John
by Elaine M. Ward
Once there was a man named John who lived in the desert, the wilderness, preaching and baptizing in the River Jordan. This John wore the skins of wild animals. His hair was long and never cut. He ate honey and locusts (beetle-like insects). The honey stuck to his black beard and he smelled like the animal skin he wore.
John was a "called" man, a man called by God to prepare the people for the coming of Jesus. John preached passionately to the people, saying "Prepare ye the way of the Lord." He was called John the Baptist.
Years and years and years later, it might be today, there was a preacher named John. The people called him "Pastor John."
When it was time for Pastor John to preach his sermon, he stood up and climbed into the pulpit. He began to preach passionately, as John the Baptist did. The papers on the pulpit flew to the floor as he threw out his arms. His glasses fell off his nose and spittle ran out of his mouth as he shook his finger and shouted.
One of the children, sitting in a pew below the pulpit, reached for his mother's hand and whispered, "Mommy, I'm afraid of that man in the box. What if they let him out?"
Then suddenly Pastor John was quiet. There was silence in the sanctuary as he read from the Bible:
"When John the Baptist's father, Zechariah, was filled with the Holy Spirit he spoke... 'By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace' " (Luke 1:67, 78-79).
The child let go of his mother's hand, took a deep breath, and smiled peacefully.
Talk together with the children: What do you know about John the Baptist? Why did Pastor John get so excited? Why was the child afraid?
Prayer: Let us pray the words of Zechariah together: "By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." Amen.
Elaine M. Ward is a storyteller and prolific creator of worship and children's ministry materials. Currently a resident of Austin, Texas, Ward served for nearly 20 years as Minister of Children at University Park United Methodist Church in Dallas, and she is a graduate of Capital University, Union Theological Seminary (New York City), and Lancaster Theological Seminary, where she was writer-in-residence for seven years. Ward is the author of several CSS titles, including Asking for Wonder, And the Sea Lay Down, Dancing the Sacraments, Alleluia! and Story Time at the Altar, as well as Love in a Lunchbox: Poems and Parables for Children's Worship (Abingdon).
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StoryShare, December 4, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45802.
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "We Can Be Changed"
Good Stories: "Marked by the Cross of Christ Forever" by Constance Berg
"Old Farmer" by John Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "The Messenger" by Henry Scholberg
"Pastor John" by Elaine M. Ward
What's Up This Week
The startling figure of John the Baptist and his message of repentance and transformation take center stage in this week's edition of StoryShare. There's a powerful illustration of the new beginnings that John spoke of in A Story to Live By, as well as two stories about John-like preachers in the Scrap Pile (one is even a children's message perfect for sharing with your young disciples). In addition, there are two heartwarming stories that may stimulate listeners to think about whether our lives have truly "prepared the way" for the Lord.
A Story to Live By
We Can Be Changed
John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
Mark 1:4
The message that John preached didn't seem like very good news. John was telling the people that they had to change; that's what repentance is, radical change. The good news of Jesus is that we can change through the power of the gospel; we can start all over again.
A gifted homiletics professor told of his first day in algebra class. It was his second year of the subject, but he just couldn't seem to get it. He was paralyzed with fear and his stomach seemed as if it were bouncing up and down on a trampoline. A new teacher walked in. She looked a lot like the old teacher, and she was holding a book that looked a lot like last year's book. Before the class began, he thought he'd go up to the teacher and explain to her what a dunce he was with algebra. So he confessed his troubles -- but she wasn't interested. "Oh yes, that may be true... but that was before you had me as your teacher. You are going to find that I do things differently. I don't like to get students who have done well in algebra before they have me. Too many prejudices. I prefer getting people who don't know a lot about algebra so I can teach them from scratch." The student went back to his seat and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a new beginning, and he could change with the help of his teacher.
That, my friends, is the good news of Jesus Christ. We can change; we can become new, loving, hopeful, joyful human beings, through the transforming power of Jesus Christ.
(From Lectionary Preaching Workbook [Series V, Cycle B] by Russell Anderson)
Good Stories
Marked by the Cross of Christ Forever
by Constance Berg
"I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."
Mark 1:8
Blaine sat in the chair, waiting for the doctor to tell him what the problem was. He had complained about headaches for a month, and the doctor had assured Blaine that as soon as his sinus infection cleared he would be fine. But a strong dose of antibiotics did not make the headaches go away. A CT scan was ordered.
On the way to the scan, time seemed to move very slowly for Blaine. His body seemed to be floating above the bed as he was wheeled through the hallways. He saw his life as a flashback as the technicians methodically did their work with the machine. It was as if he was watching them on a silent screen.
His wife, who had died several years before, smiled at him through his dream. His parents were hovering at a distance beside his grandparents. How good it was to remember them!
His dream took him to his children's baptisms. One by one, he recalled as the pastor had baptized each child, assuring them that they had entered the kingdom of God and were now a part of the family of God. Blaine remembered being embarrassed at his tears as the sign of the cross was made on each child's forehead. He had been so touched.
Blaine laughed at the thought. Yes, Blaine had been touched! Touched in that same way, long ago, when he himself was baptized. His parents had carried him to the baptismal font long ago, and the pastor had made a sign of the cross on Blaine's forehead, too. Blaine had entered the kingdom of God, a part of the family of God. Blaine smiled as he was wheeled back to his room. No matter what happened, God would never leave him.
The doctor interrupted his thoughts. He looked serious. There was a tumor on the pituitary gland that disrupted the sinus process. It would have to be removed, and the probability of malignancy was high. Blaine's heart rate was low and medications would have to be balanced. The doctor wanted to know how Blaine was feeling. "Good and bad; sad and happy." The doctor looked confused, saying he'd leave Blaine to process the diagnosis. He'd see Blaine in the morning.
Blaine smiled. Where would he even begin explaining to the good doctor?
Constance Berg is a former missionary to Chiapas, Mexico. She holds degrees from California State University and Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary, and she has done graduate work at Fuller Theological Seminary. Berg is the author of Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Series II, Cycle B), from which this story is taken.
Old Farmer
by John Sumwalt
But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.
2 Peter 3:13-15a
In the little community of Willow Bluff in the hills of southwest Wisconsin, they tell this story about an old farmer by the name of Alfie Georgeson. I say old farmer because that's what everyone called him -- "Old Farmer."
The nickname originated one day during a bull session down at the filling station. It was what one might call a community christening. Some of the guys from the cheese factory were sitting around the cooler having a pop after work. Alfie walked in, looking like he always looked when he came into town. Junior Ridley took one look at him and said, "Alfie, you look like the original old farmer."
It was true. Alfie was never seen wearing anything but the uniform of his chosen profession, bib overalls. He had three pairs; one good striped pair which he wore only when he went into town, and two faded blue pairs which he wore for everyday. One was for wearing while the other was in the wash. The rest of the uniform was standard issue at any farm supply store: blue cotton work shirt, triple hook work boots, and co-op hat. That was Old Farmer.
The name stuck. After a while people began to say it to his face. "Hey, Old Farmer, how are you doing?" Alfie didn't mind. That's how he thought of himself, too.
Alfie loved the land. He owned 80 acres of bottom land, all tillable, which he farmed with a pair of Percheron horses. Alfie said they were the best work horses in the county, and there wasn't anyone around who would dispute it. Everybody else farmed with tractors. If they had work horses, they were only for show or maybe for pulling at the county fair.
Alfie's horses were for working. They had been pulling together for 20 years. They were like old friends. It wasn't that he was against motor-propelled machinery; he just never saw the need for it. The farm was paid for, it provided him and Elizabeth with a modest but adequate living, and the horses were able to do all of the pulling work that needed to be done. The rest Alfie did by hand -- he preferred it that way.
Long days were a way of life on the farm. Alfie's alarm clock went off precisely at 4:30 every morning. He went straight to the barn, fed and watered the livestock, cleaned the stalls, harnessed the horses, spread the manure, fed the chickens, and gathered the eggs. He was usually back at the house for breakfast by 7:00, and off to the fields by 7:30.
Field work was done at the horses' pace. When they tired, Alfie rested with them until they were ready to pull again. The end of the day came when the horses had had enough. Alfie never pushed them beyond their endurance, even when he was in a hurry to get something done. There would always be another day. They were usually back in the barn by 5:00, 5:30 at the latest.
The unharnessing was Alfie's favorite part of the day. The ritual had an almost sacramental quality for him. The horses always appreciated the rubdown, something they communicated to him in subtle ways that only an old farmer would understand. This and the warm aromas that filled the stalls, a combination of lathered leather, fresh hay, oats in the manger, and the pungent odor of the remains of same in the gutter under each horse's tail, made him feel that all was right with the world.
Elizabeth never got used to the fact that he brought these smells with him when he came into the house, although after 60 years she had learned to accept it as one of the givens of farm life. She had been a city girl, if you can call a town of 1,600 a city, the daughter of the banker no less. Alfie always said she'd never done a lick of work in her life till she came to the farm. It wasn't true, of course, but Alfie liked to tease her about it just the same. Elizabeth loved Alfie. "My dear old farmer," she used to say when she talked about him with her close friends. She would have been perfectly content only if he would have gone to church with her once in a while. Once or twice a year would have been enough, but he would never go.
It wasn't that Alfie didn't love God. Elizabeth knew that his communication with the Creator was continual. It was part of the rhythm of his life, not in any formal way, of course (they never said grace before meals except on a few occasions when a preacher came to visit); but she knew that God was always in his thoughts as he worked the land. He said so once, and she knew it was so because she could see it in his face as she watched him work. It was probably just that he didn't like crowds. Alfie didn't feel comfortable when there were a lot of people around, so he never went anywhere there was going to be a crowd.
He could have liked to gone for Elizabeth's sake; he had almost brought himself to do it on several occasions, but after all those years of not going it would have been an event. He didn't think he could take all the smiles and self-satisfied looks as people congratulated him and patted him on the back. He knew what they would be thinking: "It's good to see you in church, you old goat! It's about time. Where have you been all of these years?" So he could never bring himself to go, even for Elizabeth's sake. It was a weakness, he knew, but he had never been able to overcome it.
There had been only one exception to this long-standing rule, and Elizabeth never forgot it. It happened on a Christmas Eve. Elizabeth sang in the choir, and when she looked out that particular night just as the service was about to begin she couldn't believe her eyes. There was Alfie, sitting in the back row of their little church with the five Enderman kids. He had on his good striped overalls and he looked terribly uncomfortable, but there he was.
Elizabeth found out later why he was there. He told her the kids brought him, but it had been the other way around.
The Enderman family lived about a quarter of a mile up the road. They were only there for about a year. Their dad drank and could never hold a job for long, so the family moved around from one rundown farmhouse to another. But while they were there, the kids came over regularly to see Alfie and Elizabeth. They would talk to Alfie while he worked in the barn, and sometimes he would give them a ride in the haywagon. Then they would all go up to the house and Elizabeth would get out the milk and cookies.
That Christmas Eve Elizabeth left early to rehearse with the choir before the service. When the kids came over, Alfie discovered that they knew very little about Christmas. They didn't have a Christmas tree; they didn't expect many presents, and they knew nothing about the birth of Jesus. It didn't seem right to Alfie that any child should grow up without hearing the Christmas story. So he hitched up the horses (Elizabeth had the car), threw some blankets and hay in the back of the wagon, packed the kids in, and brought them to church.
Elizabeth learned all of this when they took a tree and the presents over to their house the next day.
After that, Elizabeth picked up the Enderman kids and took them to church every Sunday. She even got their mom to go once in a while. But once had been enough for Alfie. He never went back.
On Sunday mornings while Elizabeth was in church Alfie would curry the horses and catch up on little odd jobs around the barn. He spent most of his leisure time in the barn. That was just where he wanted to be. And that was where Elizabeth found him that Sunday morning after church. She went to the house first, as she always did, and she didn't go to look for him until long after lunch was ready and she realized he hadn't come in to wash up at the usual time. She found him propped up against a bale of hay. He looked like he always looked when he fell asleep in the easy chair after supper. The doctor told her later that Alfie's heart just gave out, and said he was surprised that Alfie was able to go on as long as he had.
The church was full on the day of the funeral. Everybody loved "Old Farmer." Elizabeth didn't remember much of what was said. She did remember the fuss everyone made about the horses. She saw to it that Alfie's casket was placed on a haywagon and drawn to the cemetery by his beloved Percherons. Everybody said it was just the right touch.
And she remembered the preacher reading the familiar words from John:
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go now to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going. (John 14:2-4)
She repeated the words in her mind over and over again as she tried in vain to go to sleep that night. Did Alfie know the way? Could Christ in his infinite mercy make a place for him, too?
Author's Note: "Old Farmer" is dedicated to the memory of my father, Alvin Leonard Sumwalt, and Frank Brown, two old farmers who were part of the inspiration for this story.
Scrap Pile
The Messenger
by Henry Scholberg
They were proud of their church -- ''Proud as punch!'' they always said. ''The True Gospel Church is the finest church in the whole state,'' Rev. Carton declared on more than one occasion, and he didn't need prompting to declare it.
But Rev. Carton died suddenly, and that was that. He had been pastor of the flock longer than anyone could remember. When he ''passed on'' at the age of 87, there was no ordained person to preside over his funeral so the elders elected Brother Roberts to say a few appropriate words by the graveside.
Among those at the cemetery was a black man, Willi Brown. He had hopped off the freight train as it rambled through town. He approached Brother Roberts after the service and said to him, ''So you lost your preacher, huh?''
''Yes, my friend. What's it to you?''
''I'm a preacher, and I believe the Lord kicked me off that train just so I could come and take over Brother Carton's flock.''
''How can you be a preacher? You're a hobo.''
''Don't knock me till you've heard me, Brother.''
''I'll have to take it up with the Board of Elders.''
Willi Brown put himself to work around the True Gospel Church. He mowed the lawn, he mopped the floors, he dusted the pews, and he even tuned the piano. Widow Johnson gave him his ''vittles'' that first day and let him sleep in her tool shed that night. True to his word, Brother Roberts brought up the matter of Willi Brown at the Board of Elders meeting. He was Willi's best advocate with an overpowering argument: ''We don't have any choice. There's nobody in town who can preach. Let's see how he does on Sunday and go from there.''
Willi gave a fine sermon that first Sunday, and he was hired. But the sermons he gave on each succeeding Sunday were more and more disturbing. He was bringing a message of repentance, and that, along with his shabby appearance, led to a great deal of criticism. They offered to buy him ''a real nice suit,'' but he said, ''It doesn't matter what a man wears if his soul isn't in tatters. Did Jesus go around in a real nice suit?'' It was not long before Willi's color also became a point of issue and people started using the "n-word." For many in this rural town, it was their first encounter with anyone of color. Church attendance dropped off sharply and suddenly. Vern the grocer claimed that Willi ''just ain't comfortin' the way Rev. Carton was.''
Finally the time came for Willi's last sermon. ''I'm leaving you,'' he said, ''because I've done my work. I guess I disturbed a few folks, so I want you all to think of me as John the Baptist, a voice crying in the wilderness, preparing the way for one greater than me. And how will you know him? He will come like a thief in the night, and you will know him not.''
Willi stepped down from the pulpit, and with his head held high he walked down the aisle and out of the church. They never saw him again.
Henry Scholberg was born and spent most of his childhood in India, where his parents served for nearly four decades Methodist missionaries. He is an award-winning playwright and actor who has written and directed numerous religious plays for churches, community theater, and television. Now retired, Scholberg was the director of the Ames Library of South Asia at the University of Minnesota for 25 years. He is the author of The Golden Bells and In the Time of Trial.
Pastor John
by Elaine M. Ward
Once there was a man named John who lived in the desert, the wilderness, preaching and baptizing in the River Jordan. This John wore the skins of wild animals. His hair was long and never cut. He ate honey and locusts (beetle-like insects). The honey stuck to his black beard and he smelled like the animal skin he wore.
John was a "called" man, a man called by God to prepare the people for the coming of Jesus. John preached passionately to the people, saying "Prepare ye the way of the Lord." He was called John the Baptist.
Years and years and years later, it might be today, there was a preacher named John. The people called him "Pastor John."
When it was time for Pastor John to preach his sermon, he stood up and climbed into the pulpit. He began to preach passionately, as John the Baptist did. The papers on the pulpit flew to the floor as he threw out his arms. His glasses fell off his nose and spittle ran out of his mouth as he shook his finger and shouted.
One of the children, sitting in a pew below the pulpit, reached for his mother's hand and whispered, "Mommy, I'm afraid of that man in the box. What if they let him out?"
Then suddenly Pastor John was quiet. There was silence in the sanctuary as he read from the Bible:
"When John the Baptist's father, Zechariah, was filled with the Holy Spirit he spoke... 'By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace' " (Luke 1:67, 78-79).
The child let go of his mother's hand, took a deep breath, and smiled peacefully.
Talk together with the children: What do you know about John the Baptist? Why did Pastor John get so excited? Why was the child afraid?
Prayer: Let us pray the words of Zechariah together: "By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." Amen.
Elaine M. Ward is a storyteller and prolific creator of worship and children's ministry materials. Currently a resident of Austin, Texas, Ward served for nearly 20 years as Minister of Children at University Park United Methodist Church in Dallas, and she is a graduate of Capital University, Union Theological Seminary (New York City), and Lancaster Theological Seminary, where she was writer-in-residence for seven years. Ward is the author of several CSS titles, including Asking for Wonder, And the Sea Lay Down, Dancing the Sacraments, Alleluia! and Story Time at the Altar, as well as Love in a Lunchbox: Poems and Parables for Children's Worship (Abingdon).
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StoryShare, December 4, 2005, issue.
Copyright 2005 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45802.
