When Through Fiery Trials
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"When through Fiery Trials" by Alex Gondola
"Tracks" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
Now that we have celebrated the joyous victory over sin and death at Easter, where do we go from here? It can be easy to experience something of a "letdown" after any major celebration. The time of rejoicing is done, and regular life settles back to the every day. However, God is still working in our lives to perfect the faith that is within us. Sometimes that perfection comes through times of trial and suffering, as illustrated in "When through Fiery Trials." No matter the means, we can still see God at work in our lives, making us more like him. We may not see him personally, but we can know when he's been around, as shown in "Tracks."
* * * * * * * * *
When through Fiery Trials
Alex Gondola
1 Peter 1:3-9
Fifth grade was, hands down, my most difficult year in school. That year I had a teacher who was more demanding than any I had encountered to that point. Let's call her Mrs. T. In the four years before I entered her classroom, and in the succeeding years, my grades were generally good. Plus, the written comments on my report cards -- all of which my mother saved -- tended to be positive. (I don't mean to brag, but it's a matter of record that Mrs. P., my kindly third-grade teacher, wrote "a fine student and a grand boy to know.") But all through fifth grade, Mrs. T. was tough on me. She gave me the only D I ever received on a report card, in arithmetic, first quarter. She also noted my "plays well with others" and "shows self-control" needed improvement! How dare she! I was deeply hurt and resentful. (The fact that I did get a positive check mark for "sits and stands well" didn't take the sting out of her critiques.) At age ten I felt this teacher (who was probably in her thirties) was a mean old lady who had it in for me personally and was picking on me unfairly. It took me years to develop a different perspective. I now know Mrs. T. was pushing me to shape up out of concern for me. After all, she lived in the same small town I did, and her father and mother were friends of my parents. Out of respect for me and my family, Mrs. T. wouldn't let me slide by or develop a smart-aleck attitude. Instead, all year, she challenged me to do my best at becoming a better student, and a better person. Ultimately, I was grateful for Mrs. T's concern. Years later, I told her so in a note.
My trials in fifth grade make me think of an eighteenth century hymn: "How Firm A Foundation, Ye Saints Of The Lord," which is sung to the powerful tune "Adeste Fideles." The fourth stanza goes,
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
The anonymous author, denoted only as "K," probably Robert Keene, is quoting 1 Peter 1:6-7, which reads, in part, "... now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire." Sometimes the trials we endure result from unjustified persecution. Other times they are the consequences of our bad attitudes or behaviors, such as mine were in the fifth grade. As the gospel of John puts it, the divine vinedresser sometimes prunes us so that, ultimately, we can bear more fruit (see John 15:1-11). That pruning can be painful. But, as Hebrews reminds us, "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who are trained by it" (see 12:7-11). So, thank you, Mrs. T., for caring enough about my education and character to correct me, a lot, until I started to get the point! It sure hurt my pride at the time. But I'm grateful to you today.
PS: When it feels as if we're drowning in a sea of troubles rather than going through a fiery furnace, this hymn still comforts. Verse 3 goes,
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be near thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
That's good news!
Alex Gondola is Senior Pastor of St. Paul United Church of Christ in Wapakoneta, Ohio. He is the author of four books, all published by CSS Publishing Company, as well as numerous articles in clergy journals.
Tracks
By Keith Hewitt
John 20:19-31
It had snowed again -- a late season dusting, a thin layer of fresh powder like a clean, white sheet thrown over the bones of Old Man Winter. They stepped out onto the stoop, and as the man pulled the door shut his son leaned over and studied two lines of markings in the snow. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the tracks in the pristine white snow.
His father glanced at his watch, then looked down at the tracks. Each line was like a series of dots, almost one in front of the other. Looking closer, the dots resolved into four-toed paw prints; looking closer still, the procession of prints actually formed a kind of double line, with the paw prints marching silently on either side of an imaginary line. "Those are cat tracks," he said, and pointed with a gloved finger. "See how each one is almost in front of the one behind it, alternating to one side or the other? That's how cats walk."
"Must be a big cat," his son judged. "The paws are almost a foot apart." He pointed back, to where the tracks came around the corner of the house and then cut through the yard, across the stoop, down the sidewalk, and onto the driveway -- perfectly parallel and rail-straight.
"I don't think so," the father answered, "Come on." They walked to the driveway, the boy taking care not to step on the tracks. They got to the driveway, and he said, "See, there."
The left line of prints peeled off suddenly, going down the driveway between the clear spot where his wife's van and his daughter's car had been parked. The other line went around the front of his daughter's car, then cut down between her car and his. "It's two cats!" the boy said excitedly, and ran the couple of steps to where the tracks split. "See! This one went down there, and this one went over by your car!" As he talked, the words came out in puffs of clouds, warm breath expelled into cold air.
"Looks that way," his father agreed.
"Were they chasing one another?"
"I don't think so -- the stride doesn't seem to be very long." He glanced at his watch again, then in spite of himself looked around the driveway. "Here," he said, after a moment. He walked down the driveway to where the van had been parked, stepping in the clear space, stopping at the end nearest the street. His son hurried over to where he stood, looked down at the tracks in the snow, where he pointed.
"A rabbit?" the boy wondered, gauging the short stretch of tracks coming from under a bush -- this was a pattern of two long prints, side by side, with a pair of smaller prints between them and toward the back, almost one in front of the other. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it hop out from under the bush, cross the bit of driveway to the van, and then disappear under it.
But where to, then? He looked around, walked to the other end of the clear spot, now slowly starting to get covered with an airbrushing of white, fluffy snow as the wind picked up. There! "He went under the van here, then came out from under by the tire at the other end -- back toward the garage."
"Yep," his father agreed. "Maybe trying to dodge the cats." He nodded toward the car, then. "Let's go, or we'll be late."
Reluctantly, his son walked back to the car, eyes scanning as his head swiveled from side to side, trying to spot the animals. As he crossed in front of his father's car, he stopped, stared at the hood for a moment, then laughed and pointed. "Looks like someone else was here, too!"
His father paused from opening the door, looked at the hood. A line of paw prints started in the middle, appearing out of nowhere, then proceeded down to the front left corner, back across the hood, up to the windshield, and off. These were a series of "V" shapes, two four-toed prints in the back, two larger five-toes prints in the front.
"Was it another cat?" his son wondered.
"I don't think so. They're too small, and not the right shape." He looked around, then looked up -- and nodded. "Those are squirrel tracks. See, it came out on that branch, there --" he pointed to a thick, leafless branch hanging over his car, "-- jumped down on the car, then ran around and jumped off."
"Cool! Maybe he was avoiding the cats, too."
"Maybe. Now let's get going, or we'll be late for church."
All the way there, the boy talked about the tracks they had found, even as the wind peeled the evidence off the car's hood and dusted over that which was left behind at home. His mother was just finishing her meeting as they arrived, and he ran up to hug her. "Mom!" he said excitedly, "we had all kinds of animals running around our house this morning!"
"Really? I didn't see any animals when I left for church."
"Neither did we," he said, "but we know they were there -- we saw the tracks!"
"Then it's just like God," she said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean you never really see him -- but you can look at what he's done in the world around you, and know he's been there."
The reality of our faith is that only a handful of followers ever saw the risen Savior. We can cluck our tongues at Thomas, and chide him for doubting because he hadn't seen -- but in the end, we are not that different. We have not seen the wounds, put our hands in the holes, but we do not believe without proof, either.
It's just a different kind of proof -- a faith-driven proof.
We see the proof of God's love in the world around us. Every act of mercy, every kindness of one human to another, every moment of grace comes about because God touches the human heart, and the heart acts. We feel the power of God's love inside us, the energy and peace that should not go together, but somehow do, as they fill the void in our souls left by sin.
We do not need to touch Jesus' wounds, because we can touch our own, and wonder at the healing that God has wrought in us... and know that Jesus is among us still.
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages. 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, and works in the IT Department at a major public safety testing organization.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, March 30, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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 45804.
What's Up This Week
"When through Fiery Trials" by Alex Gondola
"Tracks" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
Now that we have celebrated the joyous victory over sin and death at Easter, where do we go from here? It can be easy to experience something of a "letdown" after any major celebration. The time of rejoicing is done, and regular life settles back to the every day. However, God is still working in our lives to perfect the faith that is within us. Sometimes that perfection comes through times of trial and suffering, as illustrated in "When through Fiery Trials." No matter the means, we can still see God at work in our lives, making us more like him. We may not see him personally, but we can know when he's been around, as shown in "Tracks."
* * * * * * * * *
When through Fiery Trials
Alex Gondola
1 Peter 1:3-9
Fifth grade was, hands down, my most difficult year in school. That year I had a teacher who was more demanding than any I had encountered to that point. Let's call her Mrs. T. In the four years before I entered her classroom, and in the succeeding years, my grades were generally good. Plus, the written comments on my report cards -- all of which my mother saved -- tended to be positive. (I don't mean to brag, but it's a matter of record that Mrs. P., my kindly third-grade teacher, wrote "a fine student and a grand boy to know.") But all through fifth grade, Mrs. T. was tough on me. She gave me the only D I ever received on a report card, in arithmetic, first quarter. She also noted my "plays well with others" and "shows self-control" needed improvement! How dare she! I was deeply hurt and resentful. (The fact that I did get a positive check mark for "sits and stands well" didn't take the sting out of her critiques.) At age ten I felt this teacher (who was probably in her thirties) was a mean old lady who had it in for me personally and was picking on me unfairly. It took me years to develop a different perspective. I now know Mrs. T. was pushing me to shape up out of concern for me. After all, she lived in the same small town I did, and her father and mother were friends of my parents. Out of respect for me and my family, Mrs. T. wouldn't let me slide by or develop a smart-aleck attitude. Instead, all year, she challenged me to do my best at becoming a better student, and a better person. Ultimately, I was grateful for Mrs. T's concern. Years later, I told her so in a note.
My trials in fifth grade make me think of an eighteenth century hymn: "How Firm A Foundation, Ye Saints Of The Lord," which is sung to the powerful tune "Adeste Fideles." The fourth stanza goes,
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
The anonymous author, denoted only as "K," probably Robert Keene, is quoting 1 Peter 1:6-7, which reads, in part, "... now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire." Sometimes the trials we endure result from unjustified persecution. Other times they are the consequences of our bad attitudes or behaviors, such as mine were in the fifth grade. As the gospel of John puts it, the divine vinedresser sometimes prunes us so that, ultimately, we can bear more fruit (see John 15:1-11). That pruning can be painful. But, as Hebrews reminds us, "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant; later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who are trained by it" (see 12:7-11). So, thank you, Mrs. T., for caring enough about my education and character to correct me, a lot, until I started to get the point! It sure hurt my pride at the time. But I'm grateful to you today.
PS: When it feels as if we're drowning in a sea of troubles rather than going through a fiery furnace, this hymn still comforts. Verse 3 goes,
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be near thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
That's good news!
Alex Gondola is Senior Pastor of St. Paul United Church of Christ in Wapakoneta, Ohio. He is the author of four books, all published by CSS Publishing Company, as well as numerous articles in clergy journals.
Tracks
By Keith Hewitt
John 20:19-31
It had snowed again -- a late season dusting, a thin layer of fresh powder like a clean, white sheet thrown over the bones of Old Man Winter. They stepped out onto the stoop, and as the man pulled the door shut his son leaned over and studied two lines of markings in the snow. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the tracks in the pristine white snow.
His father glanced at his watch, then looked down at the tracks. Each line was like a series of dots, almost one in front of the other. Looking closer, the dots resolved into four-toed paw prints; looking closer still, the procession of prints actually formed a kind of double line, with the paw prints marching silently on either side of an imaginary line. "Those are cat tracks," he said, and pointed with a gloved finger. "See how each one is almost in front of the one behind it, alternating to one side or the other? That's how cats walk."
"Must be a big cat," his son judged. "The paws are almost a foot apart." He pointed back, to where the tracks came around the corner of the house and then cut through the yard, across the stoop, down the sidewalk, and onto the driveway -- perfectly parallel and rail-straight.
"I don't think so," the father answered, "Come on." They walked to the driveway, the boy taking care not to step on the tracks. They got to the driveway, and he said, "See, there."
The left line of prints peeled off suddenly, going down the driveway between the clear spot where his wife's van and his daughter's car had been parked. The other line went around the front of his daughter's car, then cut down between her car and his. "It's two cats!" the boy said excitedly, and ran the couple of steps to where the tracks split. "See! This one went down there, and this one went over by your car!" As he talked, the words came out in puffs of clouds, warm breath expelled into cold air.
"Looks that way," his father agreed.
"Were they chasing one another?"
"I don't think so -- the stride doesn't seem to be very long." He glanced at his watch again, then in spite of himself looked around the driveway. "Here," he said, after a moment. He walked down the driveway to where the van had been parked, stepping in the clear space, stopping at the end nearest the street. His son hurried over to where he stood, looked down at the tracks in the snow, where he pointed.
"A rabbit?" the boy wondered, gauging the short stretch of tracks coming from under a bush -- this was a pattern of two long prints, side by side, with a pair of smaller prints between them and toward the back, almost one in front of the other. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it hop out from under the bush, cross the bit of driveway to the van, and then disappear under it.
But where to, then? He looked around, walked to the other end of the clear spot, now slowly starting to get covered with an airbrushing of white, fluffy snow as the wind picked up. There! "He went under the van here, then came out from under by the tire at the other end -- back toward the garage."
"Yep," his father agreed. "Maybe trying to dodge the cats." He nodded toward the car, then. "Let's go, or we'll be late."
Reluctantly, his son walked back to the car, eyes scanning as his head swiveled from side to side, trying to spot the animals. As he crossed in front of his father's car, he stopped, stared at the hood for a moment, then laughed and pointed. "Looks like someone else was here, too!"
His father paused from opening the door, looked at the hood. A line of paw prints started in the middle, appearing out of nowhere, then proceeded down to the front left corner, back across the hood, up to the windshield, and off. These were a series of "V" shapes, two four-toed prints in the back, two larger five-toes prints in the front.
"Was it another cat?" his son wondered.
"I don't think so. They're too small, and not the right shape." He looked around, then looked up -- and nodded. "Those are squirrel tracks. See, it came out on that branch, there --" he pointed to a thick, leafless branch hanging over his car, "-- jumped down on the car, then ran around and jumped off."
"Cool! Maybe he was avoiding the cats, too."
"Maybe. Now let's get going, or we'll be late for church."
All the way there, the boy talked about the tracks they had found, even as the wind peeled the evidence off the car's hood and dusted over that which was left behind at home. His mother was just finishing her meeting as they arrived, and he ran up to hug her. "Mom!" he said excitedly, "we had all kinds of animals running around our house this morning!"
"Really? I didn't see any animals when I left for church."
"Neither did we," he said, "but we know they were there -- we saw the tracks!"
"Then it's just like God," she said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean you never really see him -- but you can look at what he's done in the world around you, and know he's been there."
The reality of our faith is that only a handful of followers ever saw the risen Savior. We can cluck our tongues at Thomas, and chide him for doubting because he hadn't seen -- but in the end, we are not that different. We have not seen the wounds, put our hands in the holes, but we do not believe without proof, either.
It's just a different kind of proof -- a faith-driven proof.
We see the proof of God's love in the world around us. Every act of mercy, every kindness of one human to another, every moment of grace comes about because God touches the human heart, and the heart acts. We feel the power of God's love inside us, the energy and peace that should not go together, but somehow do, as they fill the void in our souls left by sin.
We do not need to touch Jesus' wounds, because we can touch our own, and wonder at the healing that God has wrought in us... and know that Jesus is among us still.
Keith Hewitt is the author of NaTiVity Dramas: Four Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages. 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, and works in the IT Department at a major public safety testing organization.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply email the story to us at storyshare@sermonsuite.com.
**************
StoryShare, March 30, 2008, issue.
Copyright 2008 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 45804.
