God Bless Our Gracious Leader
Stories
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Contents
"God Bless Our Gracious Leader" by Sandra Herrmann
"Let's Get Real" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
God Bless Our Gracious Leader
by Sandra Herrmann
Isaiah 9:2-7
"They're all alike, you know. Politicians. They'll say anything to get elected, but then they forget all about what they promised. They forget all about us. They get into office and they start grubbing for themselves. That's why I don't vote." Old Ted rearranged his cigarette in his mouth, so the smoke wouldn't get into his eyes as he polished first one shoe, then the other.
Sean said nothing. He knew better than to try to argue with his neighbor. But his son Peter was still young and hopeful. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then said, "But this one is different. He's not rich, like so many others. He paid his own way through school. He became an orphan when he wasn't even in high school yet. He knows what it's like to have to make your own way in the world. He's one of us. He won't forget. He's wonderful!"
The old man threw his cigarette away in disgust, without stepping on the butt to put it out. He glared briefly at Peter. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're too young to remember the last political elections. Peace in our nation! Peace in the world! We won't send your sons into war. We're going to keep the troops at home, building roads and rescuing people from the rising oceans! We need men to build new homes, new levees, and this is how we're going to get them!" Oh, they cheered, the young ones did. They thought he really meant it. No war! Who wouldn't rather build a dam than be shot at? But two weeks after he took office, we were sending boys and men over the border to the south, waging a war so we could have peace. We elders knew better, of course. We'd been here before. No jobs? Lots of unemployed boys and men? Time for a war! Keeps 'em busy and keeps 'em from having young ones. Keeps the population down." Old Ted spat on the shoe he'd been polishing and took a rag and spread it around, shining the surface of the leather so bright, Sean was mesmerized.
With no reprimand from his father, Peter shifted again from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat. "But we learned in school that they attacked us. We made drugs illegal, and they didn't like that, so they started the war."
Sean laughed so hard and loud it sounded more like a bark. "Politicians lie, son. Even textbooks can lie. And once you've repeated the lie 50,000 times, it becomes the truth."
There was silence in the garage for a few moments. Peter got interested in the tools Old Ted had on his workbench. He didn't touch them; he knew how Ted felt about others touching his tools. But he admired the cleanliness of them, the lack of rust on the shafts, the way each tool had its own place on the pegboard or workbench. Old Ted could be hard to get along with, but he had his own rules about the tools. Peter supposed this was part of the reason the old man was so hard on others – they didn't follow the rules Ted had learned and passed on down. He turned when his dad stood up, as though ready to leave.
"You know," Sean said, "not every person who takes a high position is corrupt."
"Didn't say they were," Ted answered. "I said they get into office and forget. Forget us and the rules that still work well enough for the rest of us. Forget that they're supposed to be our representatives. Forget that they're supposed to work for us, not the other way around. You know, in some societies, when a man becomes the chief of the tribe, they cover him in oil and drape him with flowers or feathers, and there's a religious ceremony, in which the king is reminded that he is the representative of God, and that the moment he forgets that, the people can disobey him, and even kill him, if it's bad enough."
Sean rolled his eyes, making Peter want to laugh. But Peter folded his lips and looked down at his own feet. "I doubt that people anywhere are allowed to kill their leader, Ted," Sean replied, his words tainted with scorn. "Especially if they see the guy as a representative of God or something, like you said."
Peter grinned at his dad. He was proud of him for standing up to Old Ted. Not too many people were willing to take on the man. For one thing, he never forgot a slight. But for another thing, he was very smart; a skilled debater who usually made his adversaries quit arguing with him, sometimes even coming to see things Old Ted's way. So he was amazed when the old man shrugged his shoulders!
"Maybe not, but even the ancient Israelites said their kings were chosen by God and even became the adopted son of God when they were anointed with holy oil. The oil made them look like a newborn baby, who comes into the world coated with mucus so they can slip out of their mothers."
"Eww!" Peter responded loudly. "Was I covered in mucus when I was born?" The expression on his face told Sean that Peter really hoped that was not true.
"Sorry, son, but it's the truth. Most babies come out greasy, like Ted said. First thing the midwife did was clean you up, wipe you down, and clean out your nose and mouth."
Peter did not want to ask what she had cleaned out of his mouth. The thought made him a little sick, in fact. He breathed through his mouth to make sure his stomach settled. It was one thing to know where babies come from and another to think how they arrived – especially how he arrived. Then it registered that Old Ted had said this meant the king of Israel was the representative of God. He had a hard time saying what he was thinking, so he held his hands up in front of his eyes, as though he were holding the thought so it wouldn't get away.
"We just had that scripture in church, Dad." He looked up at Sean. "Remember? Something about the people living in darkness, but somebody made the nation bigger... I can't remember most of it, but--"
Sean interrupted, his gaze softening as he quoted, " 'For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.' Is that the one you mean?"
"Yeah! And his kingdom will have no end." Peter smiled with pride. He usually wasn't too good at memorizing, but this one had caught his attention, and he remembered it without trying.
Old Ted squinted at Peter. "Yeah, that's for the coronation of a king: 'the greatness of his government and peace will have no end. He will rule with justice and,' uhm, righteousness forever! That's it! Don't you just wish we could have a president like that?"
The three of them contemplated their feet in silence. Then Sean said, "I guess that's why the people of Israel kept hoping for a Messiah. So that someone to take them seriously, to really care about what happened to them and the nation. And we're still looking for him, in a way."
"That's an awful thing to lay on any human being, isn't it, Dad, Uncle Ted? Nobody could live up to that."
"Well, son, that's why whoever is leader of this -- or any other -- nation needs to rely on God. Only God could pull that off. But," Sean turned to look at his uncle, "that's no reason not to vote. We have to know that no one can be like God, but every elected leader sure as anything needs the help of God."
Old Ted just shrugged, but as he looked at the now-shiny shoes in his hand, he smiled a little. "Just don't expect your leader to work harder than you do," he said, packing away the polish and brushes and rags. "Don't expect anybody else to pick up a mess that you could just as easily fix yourself."
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David's throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Let's Get Real
by C. David McKirachan
Luke 2:1-14
I like fantasy and science fiction. I enjoy making journeys into places where the issues are clear, where good is good and evil is undisguised. You'd think in the grand scheme of creating a new direction for the human race, for keeping promises founded on ancient covenants forged in blood, affirmed by the liberation of slaves, a nation's creation, struggles, captivity, exile, and return, all of this a foundation, you'd think the edifice to now be erected would be grand, powerful, and glorious. You'd think it would be full of clear flashes of the world and history shaking power at the center of the epic story. You'd think.
But the grand words, "And it came to pass in those days..." are followed by nothing clear. This whole story is a train wreck. It is a nail biter, surely. An unwed teenager, pregnant, breaking the promises that held families together, eligible for rejection, punishment, and shame. And her protector holds on to her because he had a dream? There are no dragons slain. There are no battles won. There is only a decent guy and a crazy kid. And if it couldn't get worse, they're on the road, pushed around by an empire. Why? To register for taxation. So, the baby's born in a barn, attended by cattle and intoxicated shepherds. This sounds an awful lot like reality to me. It sounds an awful lot like my life. A train wreck.
If the story was fantasy, it would build toward a glorious victory. But it's not, and it didn't. This is the real thing. So, it's messy, frightening, and confusing. The angels sang (even if it doesn't say they did), because they saw what was going on. They understood that the whole thing wasn't about making things nice and neat and wonderful. They saw that the whole thing was to allow these messy and confused idiots to know that they were loved. Not because they finally changed but because God actually loved them for what they were.
Come on! Where's the win in that? Where's the glory? Well, I don't know about the win, but the glory is in the simple human affection, decency, and faithfulness that brought that unlikely bunch together. I don't know if it would sell too many epic novels, but I think it's a keeper. It is for me.
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the savior was born for to die.
For poor ornery people like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.
Merry Christmas.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 25, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"God Bless Our Gracious Leader" by Sandra Herrmann
"Let's Get Real" by C. David McKirachan
* * * * * * * *
God Bless Our Gracious Leader
by Sandra Herrmann
Isaiah 9:2-7
"They're all alike, you know. Politicians. They'll say anything to get elected, but then they forget all about what they promised. They forget all about us. They get into office and they start grubbing for themselves. That's why I don't vote." Old Ted rearranged his cigarette in his mouth, so the smoke wouldn't get into his eyes as he polished first one shoe, then the other.
Sean said nothing. He knew better than to try to argue with his neighbor. But his son Peter was still young and hopeful. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then said, "But this one is different. He's not rich, like so many others. He paid his own way through school. He became an orphan when he wasn't even in high school yet. He knows what it's like to have to make your own way in the world. He's one of us. He won't forget. He's wonderful!"
The old man threw his cigarette away in disgust, without stepping on the butt to put it out. He glared briefly at Peter. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're too young to remember the last political elections. Peace in our nation! Peace in the world! We won't send your sons into war. We're going to keep the troops at home, building roads and rescuing people from the rising oceans! We need men to build new homes, new levees, and this is how we're going to get them!" Oh, they cheered, the young ones did. They thought he really meant it. No war! Who wouldn't rather build a dam than be shot at? But two weeks after he took office, we were sending boys and men over the border to the south, waging a war so we could have peace. We elders knew better, of course. We'd been here before. No jobs? Lots of unemployed boys and men? Time for a war! Keeps 'em busy and keeps 'em from having young ones. Keeps the population down." Old Ted spat on the shoe he'd been polishing and took a rag and spread it around, shining the surface of the leather so bright, Sean was mesmerized.
With no reprimand from his father, Peter shifted again from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat. "But we learned in school that they attacked us. We made drugs illegal, and they didn't like that, so they started the war."
Sean laughed so hard and loud it sounded more like a bark. "Politicians lie, son. Even textbooks can lie. And once you've repeated the lie 50,000 times, it becomes the truth."
There was silence in the garage for a few moments. Peter got interested in the tools Old Ted had on his workbench. He didn't touch them; he knew how Ted felt about others touching his tools. But he admired the cleanliness of them, the lack of rust on the shafts, the way each tool had its own place on the pegboard or workbench. Old Ted could be hard to get along with, but he had his own rules about the tools. Peter supposed this was part of the reason the old man was so hard on others – they didn't follow the rules Ted had learned and passed on down. He turned when his dad stood up, as though ready to leave.
"You know," Sean said, "not every person who takes a high position is corrupt."
"Didn't say they were," Ted answered. "I said they get into office and forget. Forget us and the rules that still work well enough for the rest of us. Forget that they're supposed to be our representatives. Forget that they're supposed to work for us, not the other way around. You know, in some societies, when a man becomes the chief of the tribe, they cover him in oil and drape him with flowers or feathers, and there's a religious ceremony, in which the king is reminded that he is the representative of God, and that the moment he forgets that, the people can disobey him, and even kill him, if it's bad enough."
Sean rolled his eyes, making Peter want to laugh. But Peter folded his lips and looked down at his own feet. "I doubt that people anywhere are allowed to kill their leader, Ted," Sean replied, his words tainted with scorn. "Especially if they see the guy as a representative of God or something, like you said."
Peter grinned at his dad. He was proud of him for standing up to Old Ted. Not too many people were willing to take on the man. For one thing, he never forgot a slight. But for another thing, he was very smart; a skilled debater who usually made his adversaries quit arguing with him, sometimes even coming to see things Old Ted's way. So he was amazed when the old man shrugged his shoulders!
"Maybe not, but even the ancient Israelites said their kings were chosen by God and even became the adopted son of God when they were anointed with holy oil. The oil made them look like a newborn baby, who comes into the world coated with mucus so they can slip out of their mothers."
"Eww!" Peter responded loudly. "Was I covered in mucus when I was born?" The expression on his face told Sean that Peter really hoped that was not true.
"Sorry, son, but it's the truth. Most babies come out greasy, like Ted said. First thing the midwife did was clean you up, wipe you down, and clean out your nose and mouth."
Peter did not want to ask what she had cleaned out of his mouth. The thought made him a little sick, in fact. He breathed through his mouth to make sure his stomach settled. It was one thing to know where babies come from and another to think how they arrived – especially how he arrived. Then it registered that Old Ted had said this meant the king of Israel was the representative of God. He had a hard time saying what he was thinking, so he held his hands up in front of his eyes, as though he were holding the thought so it wouldn't get away.
"We just had that scripture in church, Dad." He looked up at Sean. "Remember? Something about the people living in darkness, but somebody made the nation bigger... I can't remember most of it, but--"
Sean interrupted, his gaze softening as he quoted, " 'For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.' Is that the one you mean?"
"Yeah! And his kingdom will have no end." Peter smiled with pride. He usually wasn't too good at memorizing, but this one had caught his attention, and he remembered it without trying.
Old Ted squinted at Peter. "Yeah, that's for the coronation of a king: 'the greatness of his government and peace will have no end. He will rule with justice and,' uhm, righteousness forever! That's it! Don't you just wish we could have a president like that?"
The three of them contemplated their feet in silence. Then Sean said, "I guess that's why the people of Israel kept hoping for a Messiah. So that someone to take them seriously, to really care about what happened to them and the nation. And we're still looking for him, in a way."
"That's an awful thing to lay on any human being, isn't it, Dad, Uncle Ted? Nobody could live up to that."
"Well, son, that's why whoever is leader of this -- or any other -- nation needs to rely on God. Only God could pull that off. But," Sean turned to look at his uncle, "that's no reason not to vote. We have to know that no one can be like God, but every elected leader sure as anything needs the help of God."
Old Ted just shrugged, but as he looked at the now-shiny shoes in his hand, he smiled a little. "Just don't expect your leader to work harder than you do," he said, packing away the polish and brushes and rags. "Don't expect anybody else to pick up a mess that you could just as easily fix yourself."
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David's throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Let's Get Real
by C. David McKirachan
Luke 2:1-14
I like fantasy and science fiction. I enjoy making journeys into places where the issues are clear, where good is good and evil is undisguised. You'd think in the grand scheme of creating a new direction for the human race, for keeping promises founded on ancient covenants forged in blood, affirmed by the liberation of slaves, a nation's creation, struggles, captivity, exile, and return, all of this a foundation, you'd think the edifice to now be erected would be grand, powerful, and glorious. You'd think it would be full of clear flashes of the world and history shaking power at the center of the epic story. You'd think.
But the grand words, "And it came to pass in those days..." are followed by nothing clear. This whole story is a train wreck. It is a nail biter, surely. An unwed teenager, pregnant, breaking the promises that held families together, eligible for rejection, punishment, and shame. And her protector holds on to her because he had a dream? There are no dragons slain. There are no battles won. There is only a decent guy and a crazy kid. And if it couldn't get worse, they're on the road, pushed around by an empire. Why? To register for taxation. So, the baby's born in a barn, attended by cattle and intoxicated shepherds. This sounds an awful lot like reality to me. It sounds an awful lot like my life. A train wreck.
If the story was fantasy, it would build toward a glorious victory. But it's not, and it didn't. This is the real thing. So, it's messy, frightening, and confusing. The angels sang (even if it doesn't say they did), because they saw what was going on. They understood that the whole thing wasn't about making things nice and neat and wonderful. They saw that the whole thing was to allow these messy and confused idiots to know that they were loved. Not because they finally changed but because God actually loved them for what they were.
Come on! Where's the win in that? Where's the glory? Well, I don't know about the win, but the glory is in the simple human affection, decency, and faithfulness that brought that unlikely bunch together. I don't know if it would sell too many epic novels, but I think it's a keeper. It is for me.
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the savior was born for to die.
For poor ornery people like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.
Merry Christmas.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 25, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
