No Respecter Of Persons
Stories
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Contents
"No Respecter of Persons" by Craig Kelly
"The Difference the Third Day Makes" by Peter Andrew Smith
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No Respecter of Persons
by Craig Kelly
Acts 10:34-43
Aden clutched the paper bag a little tighter as he walked down the street.
Try to look calm. You have nothing to hide.
Down the street, he could see two squinty-eyed men scanning the neighborhood, the look on their faces seemed to scream, "Try me." Each of them carried an all-black AK-47 casually propped against their hip. Aden knew that on the streets of Mogadishu, all he needed to do was appear as if he were hiding something or even look out of place and he could easily wind up with a bullet in his brain. On these streets it was a simple matter: He who had the assault rifles made the rules. The occasional dried blood spatter on the wall or the dark stains of blood in the dirt reminded everyone of that.
You're just out for a walk. That's all. Nothing to hide.
In fact, that was the case. Inside his paper bag were several fresh made canjeero, a thin, pancake-like bread usually eaten at breakfast. These ones, however, were intended for a different purpose altogether. As the sweat beaded down Aden's face, he tried his best to make a casual turn into an alley, away from the watchful eyes of the two gunmen. It was only when he was a good block or two over from the men that he finally allowed himself to breathe. However, his breath was quickly stolen from him again as he heard several shots ring out a few blocks behind. Apparently, it was good that he got off the street when he did.
Aden continued to weave and wind his way through the back streets of Mogadishu, finally stopping at an unimpressive looking little house -- almost more like a glorified hut -- at the end of a dead-end street. After doing a couple of quick surveys to make sure no one was watching, he made his way to the back of the house. Finding the back door, he gave three slow knocks.
"Who's there?" came a nervous voice from the inside.
"A friend."
"Is it nice outside?"
"The sun's always shining in Mogadishu."
Satisfied with the password, the occupant unlocked the bolts and opened the door just wide enough for Aden to slide in.
"We were beginning to worry," the doorkeeper said. She was a short, stocky woman with broad shoulders, wide hips, and a gait that gave her the look of waddling when she walked. Despite the fact she was only in her mid-thirties, the lines on her face and the look in her eyes gave the impression that she was much older. Experience, along with living in Mogadishu, can tend to do that.
"I apologize, Nadifa, but there were gunmen on the street close to my home. I had to take another route to get here. I just missed out on another gunfight. God was surely guiding me today." He followed Nadifa down to a secluded cellar below the house. Placing the paper bag on a small table next to a bottle of cambe, a mango drink, he looked to see that everyone had gathered, all ten of them. Aden smiled and started to relax, knowing he was among fellow believers. They were all Christians, just like him.
At least he knew that most of them were.
Aden's eyes fell to Ahmed, the tall, lanky one in the corner. He was a recent believer. Aden looked at him, and all he could see was the steely-eyed gunman who had roamed the streets only months before. Ahmed was once a devout Muslim, even willing to kill those who didn't hold to the tenets of Islam. Aden had heard about spies that had feigned conversion in order to discover where the house churches were located. Many of Aden's brothers and sisters had perished after welcoming in new "converts." He's a spy, too. I know it, he thought as he looked at Ahmed. However, Nadifa vouched for him, and she had not been wrong yet. Still, he kept a close eye on the new member.
In a far corner two of the other congregants moved several boxes away exposing the wall behind. Using a crowbar they pried out a loose stone from the wall, revealing a hidden compartment in which a small, cloth-wrapped book was stored. One of the men carefully lifted it out, treating it as if it were a bar of gold bouillon rather than an old hardcover book. To some this is just an old book, but a Somali Bible in Mogadishu was a rare thing, which gave this book an added value. It was the only Bible many of these congregants had seen in their lifetime.
Slowly Samuel, the pastor of the group walked over to take the Bible. Like Ahmed and some of the others Samuel was a tall, lanky man. What was different about him was that he was actually not Somali. He had smuggled himself into the country from his native Ethiopia almost a year before and was living in hiding, sometimes with Nadifa, sometimes with others, always on the move so as to avoid detection. Living in basements and dark rooms for so long had given Samuel an almost pasty look, despite his richly dark melanin. However, what his lifestyle may have taken away from his appearance also gave him a deep, full, passionate faith in Christ, a faith he was more than happy to share with those around him. With all the solemnity of a coronation or a mass at St. Peter's Basilica, he removed the dirt-stained cloth, revealing that holy contraband that pointed them to their Savior. Taking a place behind the table that held their rudimentary communion elements, he opened the dirty Bible and taught them of a God who loved them enough to send His Son to share in their sufferings on earth and ultimately to die to pave the way to eternity with Him.
"Jesus' resurrection conquered death and Satan," Samuel said, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet one filled with passion and conviction. "But he conquered more than that. He conquered fear, hatred, and every other work of darkness. His death and resurrection transforms opponents into friends, and blood enemies into blood brothers. It is why we can have men like Ahmed with us. Even those who once hated men and women like us can be changed by the message of the cross and the power of the Holy Spirit. Thanks to Jesus and what He did for us, we can welcome our new brother to this table to share in this memorial feast that Jesus Himself commanded us to do." With that, Samuel took a canjeero and spoke of the same event that has been recounted at countless altars and communion tables throughout the centuries.
Aden tried to focus his mind on Christ as he stepped forward to partake of the meal, but as he looked around at the rest of the congregation, his eyes kept drifting back to Ahmed, and his mind kept drifting back to the faces of those who had once shared in this worship but were now dead thanks to men like Ahmed. He thought of Erasto, his cousin, the one who had first introduced him and his family to Christ. He was a man of peace, of soft words, of wide smiles, and hearty laughter. In war-torn Somalia, he was the calm in the midst of the storm. His wife, Ayan, knew no stranger. She treated everyone she met like they were family. Two wonderful people, shot down like dogs on the street right in front of their own home.
Who knows? Maybe Ahmed was even one of the shooters, Aden thought. It was definitely a possibility, although no one saw who killed them. Or rather, no one said they saw who killed them. There is a difference. Mogadishu was a city full of very quiet people, very unobservant people.
He could see Ahmed's eyes squinting even more than usual as he drew the assault rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim, looking for that kill shot, then gently squeezing the trigger. It was as clear to Aden as if he were standing there himself. Ahmed was a killer. No more, no less. He could never be one of them. In fact, the more Aden looked at Ahmed, the more he was convinced that he was the one who had killed his cousin. There was no investigation, no interrogation of witnesses, no forensic analysis; he just knew it. The way he would look at Samuel and Nadifa, the way he would turn and look at the walls, searching out all entrances and exits, the face he would make when Samuel would read from the Bible -- there was no way he was a true Christian. He was a killer, just like all the rest.
As the service concluded and the Bible was returned to its hiding place, Aden continued to glare at his new enemy, watching his every movement. He kept a close eye on his hands, waiting to see if they would reach for a hidden weapon. He was convinced that Ahmed would reveal his true loyalties at any moment. Ahmed must have noticed the extra scrutiny he was under, because he quickly rose to his feet and walked out.
"What you are about to do, do quickly," Aden said under his breath, echoing the same words once spoken to another traitor.
Samuel frowned slightly as he saw what had transpired. Slowly he walked over to Aden and walked him over to a quiet corner of the room.
"What was that about, Aden?" Samuel asked, his voice still soft and non-threatening.
Aden took a quick look to see if anyone else might be listening. "I think we may be in danger, Samuel," he said, trying to keep quiet.
"Oh?" Samuel said, feigning alarm.
"Yes!" Aden hissed, trying to keep his voice down. "I don't think Ahmed is one of us. I think he means to kill us all! He's just trying to gain our trust and let us lead him to more followers." Aden continued to list off all the "plans" that Ahmed had to kill every Christian he could find. "Just like he killed Erasto!" He cut himself off, realizing suddenly that he had no evidence to back up this accusation.
"I thought no one saw Erasto and Ayan's killers," Samuel said, bringing the reality of the situation back to Aden's mind.
"I just --" Aden grunted in frustration, unable to describe what he felt. "I just feel that he is not to be trusted. He never had to run from the gangs and soldiers like we do. He never had to know what it was like to be terrified when someone spoke in hushed tones behind your back, thinking you were about to be arrested. He's never been beaten by the authorities for following Jesus! He'll never know what it's like!"
"Aden," Samuel said, his voice still soft as wool, "Ahmed knows what we face as Christians, and he still decided to become one himself."
"But he killed our brothers and sisters! I know Jesus loves us, but how could he forgive someone like him? That murderer?" Aden realized his voice was rising when he looked behind him and saw some of the other worshipers, including Nadifa, watching him.
Samuel put his arm around Aden and smiled. "My brother, Jesus loves all of us, no matter where we've come from, no matter what we have done in the past. Look at Paul! He helped people murder Christians, and yet God called him into one of the greatest ministries the world has ever known. God doesn't care who you were; what he cares about is who he will make you become. His love for all of us is absolute and infinite, no matter who we were before. Jesus had as much love in his heart for the soldier pounding the nails into his hands and feet as he did for the disciple standing by his mother's side. And he loves Ahmed as much as he loves any of us. His sacrifice on the cross was for Ahmed, just like it was for you, Aden, just like it was for me."
"You're right, Samuel," were the words that came out of Aden's mouth, but his heart was not in those words. In his mind, Aden could still see the vision of his beloved cousin being shot down by the man who had shared communion with him. And there was a part of him that honestly wouldn't have been upset if someone had returned him the favor.
***
A week later, Aden was weaving and winding his way through the back alleys again, on his way to another gathering. As he arrived -- the last one, again -- he walked down to a very somber room. He looked around to see that Ahmed was missing. Had he taken someone away and killed them? No, everyone else was there, except him.
"Nadifa, what is going on? What's wrong?"
For a moment, Nadifa looked at Aden with almost a tint of contempt, but the look quickly softened to one of simple sadness.
"Ahmed was murdered last night, Aden."
Murdered? Aden had to be careful, for a smile almost formed on his face. All week he had thought about this former killer and how he was plotting their doom. Now he was gone! The threat was over! "Was he in a firefight?" he simply asked.
"Aden!" Nadifa scolded. "Ahmed had his guns destroyed the day he became a follower! He was killed by gunmen trying to stop him from giving a page from a Bible to a child! He was telling that boy about the love of Jesus! Despite what you thought, he truly believed! And now we have lost another brother!" Nadifa turned and walked away, wiping her face as she waddled.
Aden sat down, confused. He had himself so convinced that Ahmed would betray them that he had never thought that he would actually be a true follower of Christ. He actually believed? Jesus really forgave him? He rested his head in his cupped hands, trying to see how he could have been so blind. Here was a man who had turned to Jesus in sincerity, and Aden had rejected him.
As the reality of what had happened began to sink in, Aden felt hot tears stream down his face. As he began to weep, he felt a hand gently touch each shoulder. Blinking away the pools of water in his eyes, he turned to see Samuel and Nadifa both looking down at him, their faces also streaked with grief. He didn't even get a chance to get to his feet before they both bent down and wrapped their arms around him, weeping together.
"Jesus loved the soldiers too, even the one with the nails," Aden managed to say.
Samuel nodded. "He loves us all, brother. He loves us all."
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio.
The Difference the Third Day Makes
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 20:1-18
Jay turned down the radio. "So what is the big deal about Easter?"
"What?" I said. Jay knew I went to church and made it quite clear the first time he drove me home from work that he wasn't interested in hearing about God or anything remotely religious.
"You still go to church don't you?" he said pulling onto the highway.
"Yes," I replied. "I just want to make sure I know what you are asking."
"I don't want you to preach at me but I'm curious." Jay passed a slow moving car. "What is all the fuss about Easter?"
"It is the day when Jesus rose from the dead."
"So that was the day they realized he wasn't really dead?"
"No," I said realizing I had no idea how much Jay knew about the Bible. "Jesus died on the cross --"
"-- you mean like the crosses they have on churches?"
"Yes. There was a trial where people who didn't like Jesus decided they were going to falsely accuse him and they killed him in the way they did in those days. They nailed him to a cross until he died."
"Huh." Jay turned off the radio. "Why do you Christians put up crosses everywhere if one was used to kill Jesus?"
I scratched my head. "I guess because they remind us of what happened after Jesus was killed."
"Easter, right?" he asked.
I nodded before realizing he was watching the road instead of me. "Exactly. On Easter Sunday when the women went to the tomb they found that it was empty."
"So someone stole the body."
"No, because Jesus appeared to the disciples and showed he was alive again. That was when they remembered all the times he spoke about needing to die."
Jay shook his head. "They started telling people that Jesus was alive after he was dead because they couldn't find his body and a couple of people said they saw him alive?"
"There were more than a few people. The Bible says it started with just a few on Easter itself but then more and more people saw him alive and came to believe what he taught and what the disciples preached about Jesus," I said. "After the resurrection everything started to fall into place."
"Resurrection?"
"That's what Christians believe happened at Easter. That after Jesus died, he was raised from death by God to a new life to show us God's love and to fulfill God's purpose."
Jay eased over to our exit. "What's God's purpose?"
"To let us know how much God loves us, understands us, and to open up the way for us to come back to God --"
"-- okay. I understand now," Jay said. "Thanks for telling me about Easter."
"No problem." I replied hoping for an opportunity to say more. We drove in silence for a few minutes.
"Do you believe it?" Jay asked.
"What?"
"Do you believe that Jesus came from God, died and came back to life at Easter?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"That's a good question."
"Really?"
"Yes it is. I guess I believe it because I trust what the Bible says and what Christians down through the ages taught and I have felt God at work in my life --"
"-- okay," Jay turned the radio back on and hummed along to a familiar song. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." I closed my eyes and prayed that I hadn't messed up this chance to tell Jay about Jesus.
"What difference does it make?"
I opened my eyes. "Pardon?"
"You think Easter happened so what difference does it make?"
"It is hard to explain. Give me a minute," I said trying to gather my thoughts. "Jay, are you afraid to die?"
"Sure, isn't everyone?"
"I'm not looking forward to it but I'm not afraid of death because I trust in God's forgiveness and power. I believe that Jesus came to show me that God's love is greater than the grave and to change life forever."
"Life? I thought we were talking about death?"
"Easter isn't just about God showing us we don't need to be afraid of death but to free us so that we can live a better life. If you believe in Jesus then you know God's love and grace in this world right now. Christians believe that Jesus came to show us how to live our lives so we can be God's people."
Jay nodded. "That kind of makes sense. I've got one more question."
"Sure."
"Easter is a happy time right?" Jay pulled up in front of my house.
"The happiest."
"I could use some happy in my life as well as all the other stuff. If I were to come to your church with you I wouldn't have to do anything weird like get wet would I?"
I struggled to keep a straight face. "No one would force you to be baptized unless you wanted to."
"I don't want that but I would like to hear more about Jesus and I guess church is a good place to do that."
"The best." I replied. "The best."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
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StoryShare, April 24, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"No Respecter of Persons" by Craig Kelly
"The Difference the Third Day Makes" by Peter Andrew Smith
* * * * * * * *
No Respecter of Persons
by Craig Kelly
Acts 10:34-43
Aden clutched the paper bag a little tighter as he walked down the street.
Try to look calm. You have nothing to hide.
Down the street, he could see two squinty-eyed men scanning the neighborhood, the look on their faces seemed to scream, "Try me." Each of them carried an all-black AK-47 casually propped against their hip. Aden knew that on the streets of Mogadishu, all he needed to do was appear as if he were hiding something or even look out of place and he could easily wind up with a bullet in his brain. On these streets it was a simple matter: He who had the assault rifles made the rules. The occasional dried blood spatter on the wall or the dark stains of blood in the dirt reminded everyone of that.
You're just out for a walk. That's all. Nothing to hide.
In fact, that was the case. Inside his paper bag were several fresh made canjeero, a thin, pancake-like bread usually eaten at breakfast. These ones, however, were intended for a different purpose altogether. As the sweat beaded down Aden's face, he tried his best to make a casual turn into an alley, away from the watchful eyes of the two gunmen. It was only when he was a good block or two over from the men that he finally allowed himself to breathe. However, his breath was quickly stolen from him again as he heard several shots ring out a few blocks behind. Apparently, it was good that he got off the street when he did.
Aden continued to weave and wind his way through the back streets of Mogadishu, finally stopping at an unimpressive looking little house -- almost more like a glorified hut -- at the end of a dead-end street. After doing a couple of quick surveys to make sure no one was watching, he made his way to the back of the house. Finding the back door, he gave three slow knocks.
"Who's there?" came a nervous voice from the inside.
"A friend."
"Is it nice outside?"
"The sun's always shining in Mogadishu."
Satisfied with the password, the occupant unlocked the bolts and opened the door just wide enough for Aden to slide in.
"We were beginning to worry," the doorkeeper said. She was a short, stocky woman with broad shoulders, wide hips, and a gait that gave her the look of waddling when she walked. Despite the fact she was only in her mid-thirties, the lines on her face and the look in her eyes gave the impression that she was much older. Experience, along with living in Mogadishu, can tend to do that.
"I apologize, Nadifa, but there were gunmen on the street close to my home. I had to take another route to get here. I just missed out on another gunfight. God was surely guiding me today." He followed Nadifa down to a secluded cellar below the house. Placing the paper bag on a small table next to a bottle of cambe, a mango drink, he looked to see that everyone had gathered, all ten of them. Aden smiled and started to relax, knowing he was among fellow believers. They were all Christians, just like him.
At least he knew that most of them were.
Aden's eyes fell to Ahmed, the tall, lanky one in the corner. He was a recent believer. Aden looked at him, and all he could see was the steely-eyed gunman who had roamed the streets only months before. Ahmed was once a devout Muslim, even willing to kill those who didn't hold to the tenets of Islam. Aden had heard about spies that had feigned conversion in order to discover where the house churches were located. Many of Aden's brothers and sisters had perished after welcoming in new "converts." He's a spy, too. I know it, he thought as he looked at Ahmed. However, Nadifa vouched for him, and she had not been wrong yet. Still, he kept a close eye on the new member.
In a far corner two of the other congregants moved several boxes away exposing the wall behind. Using a crowbar they pried out a loose stone from the wall, revealing a hidden compartment in which a small, cloth-wrapped book was stored. One of the men carefully lifted it out, treating it as if it were a bar of gold bouillon rather than an old hardcover book. To some this is just an old book, but a Somali Bible in Mogadishu was a rare thing, which gave this book an added value. It was the only Bible many of these congregants had seen in their lifetime.
Slowly Samuel, the pastor of the group walked over to take the Bible. Like Ahmed and some of the others Samuel was a tall, lanky man. What was different about him was that he was actually not Somali. He had smuggled himself into the country from his native Ethiopia almost a year before and was living in hiding, sometimes with Nadifa, sometimes with others, always on the move so as to avoid detection. Living in basements and dark rooms for so long had given Samuel an almost pasty look, despite his richly dark melanin. However, what his lifestyle may have taken away from his appearance also gave him a deep, full, passionate faith in Christ, a faith he was more than happy to share with those around him. With all the solemnity of a coronation or a mass at St. Peter's Basilica, he removed the dirt-stained cloth, revealing that holy contraband that pointed them to their Savior. Taking a place behind the table that held their rudimentary communion elements, he opened the dirty Bible and taught them of a God who loved them enough to send His Son to share in their sufferings on earth and ultimately to die to pave the way to eternity with Him.
"Jesus' resurrection conquered death and Satan," Samuel said, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet one filled with passion and conviction. "But he conquered more than that. He conquered fear, hatred, and every other work of darkness. His death and resurrection transforms opponents into friends, and blood enemies into blood brothers. It is why we can have men like Ahmed with us. Even those who once hated men and women like us can be changed by the message of the cross and the power of the Holy Spirit. Thanks to Jesus and what He did for us, we can welcome our new brother to this table to share in this memorial feast that Jesus Himself commanded us to do." With that, Samuel took a canjeero and spoke of the same event that has been recounted at countless altars and communion tables throughout the centuries.
Aden tried to focus his mind on Christ as he stepped forward to partake of the meal, but as he looked around at the rest of the congregation, his eyes kept drifting back to Ahmed, and his mind kept drifting back to the faces of those who had once shared in this worship but were now dead thanks to men like Ahmed. He thought of Erasto, his cousin, the one who had first introduced him and his family to Christ. He was a man of peace, of soft words, of wide smiles, and hearty laughter. In war-torn Somalia, he was the calm in the midst of the storm. His wife, Ayan, knew no stranger. She treated everyone she met like they were family. Two wonderful people, shot down like dogs on the street right in front of their own home.
Who knows? Maybe Ahmed was even one of the shooters, Aden thought. It was definitely a possibility, although no one saw who killed them. Or rather, no one said they saw who killed them. There is a difference. Mogadishu was a city full of very quiet people, very unobservant people.
He could see Ahmed's eyes squinting even more than usual as he drew the assault rifle to his shoulder, taking careful aim, looking for that kill shot, then gently squeezing the trigger. It was as clear to Aden as if he were standing there himself. Ahmed was a killer. No more, no less. He could never be one of them. In fact, the more Aden looked at Ahmed, the more he was convinced that he was the one who had killed his cousin. There was no investigation, no interrogation of witnesses, no forensic analysis; he just knew it. The way he would look at Samuel and Nadifa, the way he would turn and look at the walls, searching out all entrances and exits, the face he would make when Samuel would read from the Bible -- there was no way he was a true Christian. He was a killer, just like all the rest.
As the service concluded and the Bible was returned to its hiding place, Aden continued to glare at his new enemy, watching his every movement. He kept a close eye on his hands, waiting to see if they would reach for a hidden weapon. He was convinced that Ahmed would reveal his true loyalties at any moment. Ahmed must have noticed the extra scrutiny he was under, because he quickly rose to his feet and walked out.
"What you are about to do, do quickly," Aden said under his breath, echoing the same words once spoken to another traitor.
Samuel frowned slightly as he saw what had transpired. Slowly he walked over to Aden and walked him over to a quiet corner of the room.
"What was that about, Aden?" Samuel asked, his voice still soft and non-threatening.
Aden took a quick look to see if anyone else might be listening. "I think we may be in danger, Samuel," he said, trying to keep quiet.
"Oh?" Samuel said, feigning alarm.
"Yes!" Aden hissed, trying to keep his voice down. "I don't think Ahmed is one of us. I think he means to kill us all! He's just trying to gain our trust and let us lead him to more followers." Aden continued to list off all the "plans" that Ahmed had to kill every Christian he could find. "Just like he killed Erasto!" He cut himself off, realizing suddenly that he had no evidence to back up this accusation.
"I thought no one saw Erasto and Ayan's killers," Samuel said, bringing the reality of the situation back to Aden's mind.
"I just --" Aden grunted in frustration, unable to describe what he felt. "I just feel that he is not to be trusted. He never had to run from the gangs and soldiers like we do. He never had to know what it was like to be terrified when someone spoke in hushed tones behind your back, thinking you were about to be arrested. He's never been beaten by the authorities for following Jesus! He'll never know what it's like!"
"Aden," Samuel said, his voice still soft as wool, "Ahmed knows what we face as Christians, and he still decided to become one himself."
"But he killed our brothers and sisters! I know Jesus loves us, but how could he forgive someone like him? That murderer?" Aden realized his voice was rising when he looked behind him and saw some of the other worshipers, including Nadifa, watching him.
Samuel put his arm around Aden and smiled. "My brother, Jesus loves all of us, no matter where we've come from, no matter what we have done in the past. Look at Paul! He helped people murder Christians, and yet God called him into one of the greatest ministries the world has ever known. God doesn't care who you were; what he cares about is who he will make you become. His love for all of us is absolute and infinite, no matter who we were before. Jesus had as much love in his heart for the soldier pounding the nails into his hands and feet as he did for the disciple standing by his mother's side. And he loves Ahmed as much as he loves any of us. His sacrifice on the cross was for Ahmed, just like it was for you, Aden, just like it was for me."
"You're right, Samuel," were the words that came out of Aden's mouth, but his heart was not in those words. In his mind, Aden could still see the vision of his beloved cousin being shot down by the man who had shared communion with him. And there was a part of him that honestly wouldn't have been upset if someone had returned him the favor.
***
A week later, Aden was weaving and winding his way through the back alleys again, on his way to another gathering. As he arrived -- the last one, again -- he walked down to a very somber room. He looked around to see that Ahmed was missing. Had he taken someone away and killed them? No, everyone else was there, except him.
"Nadifa, what is going on? What's wrong?"
For a moment, Nadifa looked at Aden with almost a tint of contempt, but the look quickly softened to one of simple sadness.
"Ahmed was murdered last night, Aden."
Murdered? Aden had to be careful, for a smile almost formed on his face. All week he had thought about this former killer and how he was plotting their doom. Now he was gone! The threat was over! "Was he in a firefight?" he simply asked.
"Aden!" Nadifa scolded. "Ahmed had his guns destroyed the day he became a follower! He was killed by gunmen trying to stop him from giving a page from a Bible to a child! He was telling that boy about the love of Jesus! Despite what you thought, he truly believed! And now we have lost another brother!" Nadifa turned and walked away, wiping her face as she waddled.
Aden sat down, confused. He had himself so convinced that Ahmed would betray them that he had never thought that he would actually be a true follower of Christ. He actually believed? Jesus really forgave him? He rested his head in his cupped hands, trying to see how he could have been so blind. Here was a man who had turned to Jesus in sincerity, and Aden had rejected him.
As the reality of what had happened began to sink in, Aden felt hot tears stream down his face. As he began to weep, he felt a hand gently touch each shoulder. Blinking away the pools of water in his eyes, he turned to see Samuel and Nadifa both looking down at him, their faces also streaked with grief. He didn't even get a chance to get to his feet before they both bent down and wrapped their arms around him, weeping together.
"Jesus loved the soldiers too, even the one with the nails," Aden managed to say.
Samuel nodded. "He loves us all, brother. He loves us all."
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio.
The Difference the Third Day Makes
by Peter Andrew Smith
John 20:1-18
Jay turned down the radio. "So what is the big deal about Easter?"
"What?" I said. Jay knew I went to church and made it quite clear the first time he drove me home from work that he wasn't interested in hearing about God or anything remotely religious.
"You still go to church don't you?" he said pulling onto the highway.
"Yes," I replied. "I just want to make sure I know what you are asking."
"I don't want you to preach at me but I'm curious." Jay passed a slow moving car. "What is all the fuss about Easter?"
"It is the day when Jesus rose from the dead."
"So that was the day they realized he wasn't really dead?"
"No," I said realizing I had no idea how much Jay knew about the Bible. "Jesus died on the cross --"
"-- you mean like the crosses they have on churches?"
"Yes. There was a trial where people who didn't like Jesus decided they were going to falsely accuse him and they killed him in the way they did in those days. They nailed him to a cross until he died."
"Huh." Jay turned off the radio. "Why do you Christians put up crosses everywhere if one was used to kill Jesus?"
I scratched my head. "I guess because they remind us of what happened after Jesus was killed."
"Easter, right?" he asked.
I nodded before realizing he was watching the road instead of me. "Exactly. On Easter Sunday when the women went to the tomb they found that it was empty."
"So someone stole the body."
"No, because Jesus appeared to the disciples and showed he was alive again. That was when they remembered all the times he spoke about needing to die."
Jay shook his head. "They started telling people that Jesus was alive after he was dead because they couldn't find his body and a couple of people said they saw him alive?"
"There were more than a few people. The Bible says it started with just a few on Easter itself but then more and more people saw him alive and came to believe what he taught and what the disciples preached about Jesus," I said. "After the resurrection everything started to fall into place."
"Resurrection?"
"That's what Christians believe happened at Easter. That after Jesus died, he was raised from death by God to a new life to show us God's love and to fulfill God's purpose."
Jay eased over to our exit. "What's God's purpose?"
"To let us know how much God loves us, understands us, and to open up the way for us to come back to God --"
"-- okay. I understand now," Jay said. "Thanks for telling me about Easter."
"No problem." I replied hoping for an opportunity to say more. We drove in silence for a few minutes.
"Do you believe it?" Jay asked.
"What?"
"Do you believe that Jesus came from God, died and came back to life at Easter?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, I do."
"Why?"
"That's a good question."
"Really?"
"Yes it is. I guess I believe it because I trust what the Bible says and what Christians down through the ages taught and I have felt God at work in my life --"
"-- okay," Jay turned the radio back on and hummed along to a familiar song. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." I closed my eyes and prayed that I hadn't messed up this chance to tell Jay about Jesus.
"What difference does it make?"
I opened my eyes. "Pardon?"
"You think Easter happened so what difference does it make?"
"It is hard to explain. Give me a minute," I said trying to gather my thoughts. "Jay, are you afraid to die?"
"Sure, isn't everyone?"
"I'm not looking forward to it but I'm not afraid of death because I trust in God's forgiveness and power. I believe that Jesus came to show me that God's love is greater than the grave and to change life forever."
"Life? I thought we were talking about death?"
"Easter isn't just about God showing us we don't need to be afraid of death but to free us so that we can live a better life. If you believe in Jesus then you know God's love and grace in this world right now. Christians believe that Jesus came to show us how to live our lives so we can be God's people."
Jay nodded. "That kind of makes sense. I've got one more question."
"Sure."
"Easter is a happy time right?" Jay pulled up in front of my house.
"The happiest."
"I could use some happy in my life as well as all the other stuff. If I were to come to your church with you I wouldn't have to do anything weird like get wet would I?"
I struggled to keep a straight face. "No one would force you to be baptized unless you wanted to."
"I don't want that but I would like to hear more about Jesus and I guess church is a good place to do that."
"The best." I replied. "The best."
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
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StoryShare, April 24, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
