X Games
Stories
Note: This installment was originally posted in 2007.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"X Games" by John S. Smylie
"The Ugliest Man In The World" by David O. Bales
What's Up This Week
We often say, "You can't go home again" — but in this week's gospel passage, Jesus refutes that well-worn adage with a powerful story about a prodigal son and a loving father who is overjoyed at his son's return. In this week's featured story, "X Games," John Smylie updates this familiar parable to a very contemporary setting that almost any parent can identify with.
When the prodigal son returns home, he certainly has what we might term an "attitude adjustment" and looks at the world from a changed perspective. In this week's other story, David Bales spins a fascinating yarn about a young woman who makes fun of her Sunday school teacher — until her harrowing experiences lead her to see him in an entirely new light.
* * *
X Games
John S. Smylie
Luke 15:11b-32
Jerry was only eight years old when he first strapped a snowboard onto his feet. He grew up in northern Idaho surrounded by lakes, mountains, and towering Ponderosa pines. He loved the winters; the more snow the better as far as he was concerned. There were several options for him to practice his snowboarding; there was Silver Mountain to the south, Schweitzer Mountain to the north, Lookout Pass to the east, and Mount Spokane to the west. He dreamed of being the best snowboarder in all of northern Idaho, and his goal was to be one of those who performed on ESPN's X Games.
His mom and dad were supportive of his passion. Each year they bought him a season pass to a local mountain and encouraged this athletic activity, but as the years progressed they began to nudge Jerry in a different direction. The older Jerry got, the more stubborn he became in his determination to be a professional snowboarder. At times he and his parents would engage in shouting matches, each trying to exert their own will upon the other. Upon graduation from high school Jerry gave in to his parents' desires and went to a state college. When winter came, he stopped attending most of his classes so he could spend all of his time on the mountain. When the winter term grades came out and his parents got a look at them, it became clear that Jerry had blown off his schoolwork.
His father told him that if he didn't attend classes he could be darn sure that he and his mom would no longer assist him with his tuition, room, and board. In a fit of anger, Jerry told his parents they could keep their money — that he was leaving college, leaving the state, and would go to Colorado to pursue his dream of snowboarding. "You have never cared about my dreams; you've never supported me. I'm leaving and I don't plan to come back," Jerry said red-faced over the telephone, slamming down the receiver. That was the last time he ever intended to talk with them. They would never understand or appreciate him, he thought to himself.
In Colorado he quickly found other snowboard dreamers like himself, snowboarders from all over the country that hoped to be the next world champions in their sport. Jerry liked hanging out with them, talking about tricks, drinking a few beers and smoking a little marijuana. He thought this was a pretty cool life. The little savings that Jerry had in his pocket quickly ran out. The only job that he could get was at a fast food restaurant, which barely provided him enough money to pay for his rent, let alone money for beer and pot and lift tickets. He was snowboarding less and less. When he arrived in Colorado he quickly discovered that there were a whole lot of snowboarders that were far more skilled than he was, but it was hard for him to admit that he might have to change his course. Maybe that's why he began to try some other drugs as well; perhaps he could hide from his own feelings of failure. He quit his job because one evening he came to work high and he refused to urinate in a cup when his boss suspected he was on something. Knowing he would fail the test, Jerry walked away.
He couldn't pay his share of the rent, and his playful friends quickly dropped him — no money, no mercy seemed to be their policy. Jerry had to sell his snowboard to pay for food. His dream had died, he'd given up his college experience, and he felt he'd lost his soul and his way.
He remembered the sweet smell of the forest he loved so much in northern Idaho. He remembered his mom and dad, and began to understand the sacrifices they made so he could pursue his snowboarding. They were not wealthy people, but they always seemed to find a way to outfit Jerry in the most advanced snowboarding equipment. He remembered the harsh words he said to his parents the last time they spoke with each other. "God, I wish I could go back home," he said to himself. He was penniless, on the street, dumpster-diving outside a local sports bar when he heard the familiar ESPN music and remembered times sitting with his dad, watching the X Games in their living room.
There was a homeless shelter in town, started by a local church; it had a red door on it, and Jerry walked in. They gave him a place to sleep, and a local pastor talked with him for a while and offered to let him use the phone if he wanted to call his parents in northern Idaho. "How could they ever take me back? How could they ever forgive me after the things I said to them?" he wondered.
The pastor said, "When you're ready you can use the phone, and you can stay here tonight."
All night long Jerry thought about his home and his parents. He wondered if they would ever be able to accept him back into their lives.
The next morning, he went to the pastor and said he was ready to call.
The pastor said, "I will pray for you."
"Thanks," Jerry said, not really sure it would do any good.
Jerry dialed the phone; it rang once, twice, three times. Jerry knew on the fourth ring it would switch to the answering machine — and he hoped it would.
"Hello," his mother said, sounding out of breath as she answered the phone. Jerry couldn't respond; he too felt as if his breath had just been taken away from him.
"Hello," his mother said again.
"Mom."
"Jerry, is that you? Where are you? Are you all right? Your father and I have been worried sick!" Jerry's mom removed the receiver from her mouth and called across the room to Jerry's father, telling him to pick up the phone, that Jerry was on the line. Jerry heard his dad pick up the line.
"Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm in a homeless shelter in Breckenridge, Colorado. I'm out of money, I've been doing drugs, I've had to sell everything — even my snowboard. I want to come home. I'll understand if you don't want me to. I know I've been terrible to you both. I want to start over again. Can you ever..."
Jerry's father cut in. "Son, we're packing up the jeep right now. You just stay where you are. We're coming to get you to bring you home. We love you, son."
Jerry could hear his mother gently sobbing on the other end of the line. "I love you too, Dad. I'm sorry."
"Jerry, can you put someone on the line who can give us directions?"
"Yes," was all he said as he handed the phone to the pastor.
"Yes, he can stay here," the pastor said over the phone. "Yes, we will take good care of him. Don't you worry; we'll see you tomorrow evening."
The hours never moved so slowly for Jerry. Tomorrow evening he would see his mom and dad. What would they be like? Would they be angry?
The jeep pulled into Breckenridge, Colorado, right up to the front of the homeless shelter with the red door. Jerry couldn't believe his eyes when his parents walked in. His mom and dad stood right there in front of him with tears in their eyes and cautious smiles on their faces, holding a brand-new snowboard with a big red ribbon tied around it — with large letters that said, "Welcome home, son."
John S. Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
The Ugliest Man In The World
by David O. Bales
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
All spring of 1939, Flora had tried to get her daughter Aida to attend Sunday school at the American church. But Paris was always more interesting. Aida, as the only American in the lycÈe, seemed to be invited to every event on every weekend by every other student. Besides, after finally agreeing to attend Sunday school, Aida found that the teacher spoke English poorly. "I think Monsieur Sordet teaches the class so he can practice his English. I can hardly understand him. The three Brits in class just turn their heads and laugh. And really," Aida sniffed as she tapped her index finger on her mother's wrist, "Monsieur Sordet is the ugliest man in the world."
Besides trying to get Aida to Sunday school at the American church, Flora had all she could manage as a single mother and bread-winner. Her job at the US embassy was already overwhelming. Embassy desks were stacked high with requests for visas from Spanish refugees. Flora would say, "America just isn't granting visas to Spaniards. But I'll phone the Mexican embassy and tell them I'm sending you over." Now, along with the Spaniards who'd escaped to France during the Spanish Civil War, refugees poured into Paris from Germany. The embassy staff called them "Hitler's flotsam and jetsam": German intellectuals and Jews. Many of them resembled Flora's grandparents. Some resembled Flora herself.
With the added stress of trying to save lives, Flora remained faithful to weekly worship and called upon her faith as she'd never considered possible. She prayed almost constantly during working hours as people waited in line to see her. They stood outside the embassy, lining up around the block. The same people returned every week, asking and then begging for a visa to America — and becoming thinner and more threadbare.
Flora and Aida's lives hung by the thinnest financial thread. Three years earlier Flora and Skip had received the telegram accepting his proposal for study at the Louvre. They didn't know and couldn't predict that his weak aortic artery would burst, leaving him dead in less than a minute and leaving Flora and Aida stranded in France without a job or support. Flora had struggled through grief and poverty at the same time, and she believed that her prayers were answered when she got the job at the embassy.
Aida's time was consumed by her high school chums. Flora's energy was daily sapped by inspecting outdated or obviously forged passports and saying, "I'm sorry. There's just no visas for the US."
Flora continued to pray until praying wasn't an act of will but of her nature. Only occasionally did Flora get Aida to Sunday school, and she'd come home with some complaint about Monsieur Sordet. "Mom, when he tries to read through those thick glasses, he looks like he's peering through a couple of portholes."
Their frayed existence began thoroughly to unravel when Hitler shattered the precarious phony war in May 1940. France formally surrendered on June 22. Although they were US citizens, Flora's having Jewish grandparents placed them in instant jeopardy. She'd seen and heard enough from German refugees not to wait for Nazi troops to march into Paris.
Two days before the Germans occupied Paris, neighbors offered her and Aida a place in a car fleeing south. In twelve minutes they'd stuffed a suitcase apiece. In what was soon to become Vichy France, the port of Marseille beckoned as an open door out of a house fire.
On their second day, the car ran out of gas and no one would sell them more. Amid the scuffling and shoving of other refugees, they became separated from their neighbors when they entered a village. Within two kilometers beyond the village they were robbed of everything — including passports and visas.
Now only their physical strength could get them to safety. Flora and Aida walked every day. A few villagers gave them a little to eat. More often, low on food for themselves and low on patience with strangers, they warned refugees to keep moving.
Two weeks later and fifteen pounds lighter they arrived in Marseille, and learned that two groups were helping refugees. They leaped at the hope. As they walked into the small hotel room to meet the Assistance Committee, a voice in broken English greeted them: "Ah, Aida. I'm so glad to see you." Hugs and tears followed between Aida, Flora, and Monsieur Sordet.
After a week's hiding and preparing, they were instructed to arrive at exactly 6 a.m. at a particular ship on the waterfront. Monsieur Sordet rushed up to them. He handed them passports and visas and hustled them onto the ship. The gangplank pulled up behind them and the ship immediately began to move. They had a moment to wave to Monsieur Sordet. He looked up at them through his giant glasses and waved back, then walked away quickly. They were on their way to the Caribbean island of Martinique, and from there to the United States.
Flora and Aida stood with an arm around each other, watching their beloved France recede. For the first time in weeks they both breathed normally. Flora was still praying. She said to Aida, "Now what do you think of Monsieur Sordet?"
Aida tugged a little on her mother, rocking her slightly. She said, "I think he's about the handsomest man in the world."
David O. Bales is a retired Presbyterian minister and a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. He is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS).
**************
StoryShare, March 18, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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.
Contents
What's Up This Week
"X Games" by John S. Smylie
"The Ugliest Man In The World" by David O. Bales
What's Up This Week
We often say, "You can't go home again" — but in this week's gospel passage, Jesus refutes that well-worn adage with a powerful story about a prodigal son and a loving father who is overjoyed at his son's return. In this week's featured story, "X Games," John Smylie updates this familiar parable to a very contemporary setting that almost any parent can identify with.
When the prodigal son returns home, he certainly has what we might term an "attitude adjustment" and looks at the world from a changed perspective. In this week's other story, David Bales spins a fascinating yarn about a young woman who makes fun of her Sunday school teacher — until her harrowing experiences lead her to see him in an entirely new light.
* * *
X Games
John S. Smylie
Luke 15:11b-32
Jerry was only eight years old when he first strapped a snowboard onto his feet. He grew up in northern Idaho surrounded by lakes, mountains, and towering Ponderosa pines. He loved the winters; the more snow the better as far as he was concerned. There were several options for him to practice his snowboarding; there was Silver Mountain to the south, Schweitzer Mountain to the north, Lookout Pass to the east, and Mount Spokane to the west. He dreamed of being the best snowboarder in all of northern Idaho, and his goal was to be one of those who performed on ESPN's X Games.
His mom and dad were supportive of his passion. Each year they bought him a season pass to a local mountain and encouraged this athletic activity, but as the years progressed they began to nudge Jerry in a different direction. The older Jerry got, the more stubborn he became in his determination to be a professional snowboarder. At times he and his parents would engage in shouting matches, each trying to exert their own will upon the other. Upon graduation from high school Jerry gave in to his parents' desires and went to a state college. When winter came, he stopped attending most of his classes so he could spend all of his time on the mountain. When the winter term grades came out and his parents got a look at them, it became clear that Jerry had blown off his schoolwork.
His father told him that if he didn't attend classes he could be darn sure that he and his mom would no longer assist him with his tuition, room, and board. In a fit of anger, Jerry told his parents they could keep their money — that he was leaving college, leaving the state, and would go to Colorado to pursue his dream of snowboarding. "You have never cared about my dreams; you've never supported me. I'm leaving and I don't plan to come back," Jerry said red-faced over the telephone, slamming down the receiver. That was the last time he ever intended to talk with them. They would never understand or appreciate him, he thought to himself.
In Colorado he quickly found other snowboard dreamers like himself, snowboarders from all over the country that hoped to be the next world champions in their sport. Jerry liked hanging out with them, talking about tricks, drinking a few beers and smoking a little marijuana. He thought this was a pretty cool life. The little savings that Jerry had in his pocket quickly ran out. The only job that he could get was at a fast food restaurant, which barely provided him enough money to pay for his rent, let alone money for beer and pot and lift tickets. He was snowboarding less and less. When he arrived in Colorado he quickly discovered that there were a whole lot of snowboarders that were far more skilled than he was, but it was hard for him to admit that he might have to change his course. Maybe that's why he began to try some other drugs as well; perhaps he could hide from his own feelings of failure. He quit his job because one evening he came to work high and he refused to urinate in a cup when his boss suspected he was on something. Knowing he would fail the test, Jerry walked away.
He couldn't pay his share of the rent, and his playful friends quickly dropped him — no money, no mercy seemed to be their policy. Jerry had to sell his snowboard to pay for food. His dream had died, he'd given up his college experience, and he felt he'd lost his soul and his way.
He remembered the sweet smell of the forest he loved so much in northern Idaho. He remembered his mom and dad, and began to understand the sacrifices they made so he could pursue his snowboarding. They were not wealthy people, but they always seemed to find a way to outfit Jerry in the most advanced snowboarding equipment. He remembered the harsh words he said to his parents the last time they spoke with each other. "God, I wish I could go back home," he said to himself. He was penniless, on the street, dumpster-diving outside a local sports bar when he heard the familiar ESPN music and remembered times sitting with his dad, watching the X Games in their living room.
There was a homeless shelter in town, started by a local church; it had a red door on it, and Jerry walked in. They gave him a place to sleep, and a local pastor talked with him for a while and offered to let him use the phone if he wanted to call his parents in northern Idaho. "How could they ever take me back? How could they ever forgive me after the things I said to them?" he wondered.
The pastor said, "When you're ready you can use the phone, and you can stay here tonight."
All night long Jerry thought about his home and his parents. He wondered if they would ever be able to accept him back into their lives.
The next morning, he went to the pastor and said he was ready to call.
The pastor said, "I will pray for you."
"Thanks," Jerry said, not really sure it would do any good.
Jerry dialed the phone; it rang once, twice, three times. Jerry knew on the fourth ring it would switch to the answering machine — and he hoped it would.
"Hello," his mother said, sounding out of breath as she answered the phone. Jerry couldn't respond; he too felt as if his breath had just been taken away from him.
"Hello," his mother said again.
"Mom."
"Jerry, is that you? Where are you? Are you all right? Your father and I have been worried sick!" Jerry's mom removed the receiver from her mouth and called across the room to Jerry's father, telling him to pick up the phone, that Jerry was on the line. Jerry heard his dad pick up the line.
"Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm in a homeless shelter in Breckenridge, Colorado. I'm out of money, I've been doing drugs, I've had to sell everything — even my snowboard. I want to come home. I'll understand if you don't want me to. I know I've been terrible to you both. I want to start over again. Can you ever..."
Jerry's father cut in. "Son, we're packing up the jeep right now. You just stay where you are. We're coming to get you to bring you home. We love you, son."
Jerry could hear his mother gently sobbing on the other end of the line. "I love you too, Dad. I'm sorry."
"Jerry, can you put someone on the line who can give us directions?"
"Yes," was all he said as he handed the phone to the pastor.
"Yes, he can stay here," the pastor said over the phone. "Yes, we will take good care of him. Don't you worry; we'll see you tomorrow evening."
The hours never moved so slowly for Jerry. Tomorrow evening he would see his mom and dad. What would they be like? Would they be angry?
The jeep pulled into Breckenridge, Colorado, right up to the front of the homeless shelter with the red door. Jerry couldn't believe his eyes when his parents walked in. His mom and dad stood right there in front of him with tears in their eyes and cautious smiles on their faces, holding a brand-new snowboard with a big red ribbon tied around it — with large letters that said, "Welcome home, son."
John S. Smylie is the rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Casper, Wyoming. Previously he served as the dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Spokane, Washington. He is a published author and storyteller as well as a singer-songwriter. Smylie recently completed Grace for Today, a collection of 25 stories that explores how grace, loss, and restoration are part of the same fabric.
The Ugliest Man In The World
by David O. Bales
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
All spring of 1939, Flora had tried to get her daughter Aida to attend Sunday school at the American church. But Paris was always more interesting. Aida, as the only American in the lycÈe, seemed to be invited to every event on every weekend by every other student. Besides, after finally agreeing to attend Sunday school, Aida found that the teacher spoke English poorly. "I think Monsieur Sordet teaches the class so he can practice his English. I can hardly understand him. The three Brits in class just turn their heads and laugh. And really," Aida sniffed as she tapped her index finger on her mother's wrist, "Monsieur Sordet is the ugliest man in the world."
Besides trying to get Aida to Sunday school at the American church, Flora had all she could manage as a single mother and bread-winner. Her job at the US embassy was already overwhelming. Embassy desks were stacked high with requests for visas from Spanish refugees. Flora would say, "America just isn't granting visas to Spaniards. But I'll phone the Mexican embassy and tell them I'm sending you over." Now, along with the Spaniards who'd escaped to France during the Spanish Civil War, refugees poured into Paris from Germany. The embassy staff called them "Hitler's flotsam and jetsam": German intellectuals and Jews. Many of them resembled Flora's grandparents. Some resembled Flora herself.
With the added stress of trying to save lives, Flora remained faithful to weekly worship and called upon her faith as she'd never considered possible. She prayed almost constantly during working hours as people waited in line to see her. They stood outside the embassy, lining up around the block. The same people returned every week, asking and then begging for a visa to America — and becoming thinner and more threadbare.
Flora and Aida's lives hung by the thinnest financial thread. Three years earlier Flora and Skip had received the telegram accepting his proposal for study at the Louvre. They didn't know and couldn't predict that his weak aortic artery would burst, leaving him dead in less than a minute and leaving Flora and Aida stranded in France without a job or support. Flora had struggled through grief and poverty at the same time, and she believed that her prayers were answered when she got the job at the embassy.
Aida's time was consumed by her high school chums. Flora's energy was daily sapped by inspecting outdated or obviously forged passports and saying, "I'm sorry. There's just no visas for the US."
Flora continued to pray until praying wasn't an act of will but of her nature. Only occasionally did Flora get Aida to Sunday school, and she'd come home with some complaint about Monsieur Sordet. "Mom, when he tries to read through those thick glasses, he looks like he's peering through a couple of portholes."
Their frayed existence began thoroughly to unravel when Hitler shattered the precarious phony war in May 1940. France formally surrendered on June 22. Although they were US citizens, Flora's having Jewish grandparents placed them in instant jeopardy. She'd seen and heard enough from German refugees not to wait for Nazi troops to march into Paris.
Two days before the Germans occupied Paris, neighbors offered her and Aida a place in a car fleeing south. In twelve minutes they'd stuffed a suitcase apiece. In what was soon to become Vichy France, the port of Marseille beckoned as an open door out of a house fire.
On their second day, the car ran out of gas and no one would sell them more. Amid the scuffling and shoving of other refugees, they became separated from their neighbors when they entered a village. Within two kilometers beyond the village they were robbed of everything — including passports and visas.
Now only their physical strength could get them to safety. Flora and Aida walked every day. A few villagers gave them a little to eat. More often, low on food for themselves and low on patience with strangers, they warned refugees to keep moving.
Two weeks later and fifteen pounds lighter they arrived in Marseille, and learned that two groups were helping refugees. They leaped at the hope. As they walked into the small hotel room to meet the Assistance Committee, a voice in broken English greeted them: "Ah, Aida. I'm so glad to see you." Hugs and tears followed between Aida, Flora, and Monsieur Sordet.
After a week's hiding and preparing, they were instructed to arrive at exactly 6 a.m. at a particular ship on the waterfront. Monsieur Sordet rushed up to them. He handed them passports and visas and hustled them onto the ship. The gangplank pulled up behind them and the ship immediately began to move. They had a moment to wave to Monsieur Sordet. He looked up at them through his giant glasses and waved back, then walked away quickly. They were on their way to the Caribbean island of Martinique, and from there to the United States.
Flora and Aida stood with an arm around each other, watching their beloved France recede. For the first time in weeks they both breathed normally. Flora was still praying. She said to Aida, "Now what do you think of Monsieur Sordet?"
Aida tugged a little on her mother, rocking her slightly. She said, "I think he's about the handsomest man in the world."
David O. Bales is a retired Presbyterian minister and a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. He is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS).
**************
StoryShare, March 18, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 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.
