Be Joyful
Stories
Object:
Contents
What's Up This Week
"Be Joyful" by John Smylie
"What Motivates You?" by John Smylie
"Diamonds" by Craig Kelly
"Cheerful?" by David O. Bales
"Thanksgiving" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
The liturgical year comes to a triumphant close this week as we observe the feast of Christ the King. Then four days later, those of us in America will (literally) feast as we celebrate Thanksgiving. For many, it's a joyful time -- but sometimes it can be difficult to find joy amid all the problems and heartache of everyday life. Psalm 100 reminds us to "be joyful in the Lord," and in the feature story in this edition of StoryShare, John Smylie tells a poignant tale of a young girl who, despite her dire circumstances, finds delight in everything because she sees God's hand at work. John also muses on what really motivates us -- and shares that in his experience, the way to find joy is to serve others. Craig Kelly recounts a similar experience, and how it's helped him to see "diamonds in the rough" in an impoverished neighborhood. For Thanksgiving Day, we have a pair of additional stories: David Bales tells of an awkward conversation between a pastor and a man who definitely doesn't find joy from a stewardship presentation, and how they work through the man's discomfort to find deep truth, while Keith Hewitt gets us to think about the wonder of the earth's existence and the life on it -- something for which we all can be thankful.
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Be Joyful
by John Smylie
Psalm 100
Joy was nine years old, and every day seemed like a miracle to her. She was wise beyond her days, perhaps because her days were numbered. I suppose all of our days are numbered, but some of us are aware that the numbers are going to be less than others. Joy's terminal cancer, which at times caused her energy to be sapped, had also created in her an awareness of and appreciation for the little things. As her cancer progressed, her world became smaller. Instead of running in the fields, Joy could only look at them through her window. Instead of playing with the other children in the playground in the schoolyard, Joy could now only remember the times of nearly getting bumped off the seesaw, whizzing down the sliding board, and flying back and forth on the large old swing with the wooden seat with peeling red paint. Joy could still participate in her class at school even though she was not there because Mr. Jones, who lived down the street and was a computer expert, set up several cameras in her classroom at school so she could monitor and listen to what was being taught. There was also a camera next to her hospice bed at her home so the kids at school could see her on the teacher's computer screen. Joy was grateful for this connection.
Her favorite part of the day was music class. Her teacher had a wonderful voice and she played the piano and sang with vigor. Though Joy's voice had grown weak because of the disease, she would always mouth the words along with the class. Because it was a Christian school, at times the class would sing some of her church favorites. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see." Joy loved that song, and whenever she would sing it she felt the presence of God. Somehow music brought her nearer to God, and she felt more connected to those around her when they sang together even though her voice was weak. Whenever she sang and heard her friends and teachers sing she always felt stronger.
One day Joy felt particularly thankful because the temperature was warm outside and the screen was off her window. As she listened to the birds sing and watched the wind create waves upon the long grass on the fields outside of her window, in flew a butterfly. It was a monarch, and she watched as it landed on her wrist. She kept very still and found herself giving thanks to God and praising him for the beauty of creation and for this moment where she could see the intricacy of his handiwork. She knew the Lord was good and she knew his mercy was everlasting. She kept very still and watched the monarch butterfly slowly open and close its wings as it rested upon her. And Joy knew that she too was resting upon the hands of God and that God was enjoying her. She knew that God's faithfulness endures from age to age. While the butterfly slowly beat his wings on her wrists she became aware of a light as bright as the dawn -- it was the face of God smiling upon her, and surrounded by her mother and her father and seen by the other kids and her teacher in the classroom the butterfly flew off and her spirit was released.
Some unknown presence, though I suspect we know where it came from, fell upon the children and they began to sing, "When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, We've no less days to seeing God's praise than when we'd first begun."
Be joyful in the Lord, all you lands...
What Motivates You?
by John Smylie
Matthew 25:31-46
Years ago I heard a saying that has stuck with me ever since -- "Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving" -- and I wonder if the word "fear" might be just as useful as the word "guilt." Most of the time when I share this saying with others, people perceive it as a kind of humor/truth message. Guilt does at times motivate us; at other times fear may motivate us, but I have to say that in my opinion neither one of those motivators is particularly helpful or healthy.
Both guilt and fear seem to me to be tools by which people can be manipulated into behaviors that may appear helpful -- behaviors that may inspire actions that are useful -- but I remain skeptical that guilt or fear can transform the heart. The message in this week's Gospel is fairly obvious. We serve our Lord whenever we serve a stranger, one who is in need, whenever we visit one who is in prison and care for the sick. We serve our Lord when we give food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty. In other words, we serve our Lord when we perform acts of kindness and compassion. Serving our Lord is not simply a kind of religious duty -- the righteous serve our Lord out of the heart of service. A heart and life that is transformed or molded in a fashion that service becomes a natural way of being, where reaching out is as normal as breathing, becomes a way of life.
One of the things I have discovered in my life is that service does me good. Sometimes there may be a subtle or hidden message that Christians are never supposed to be down. By virtue of knowing our Lord there appears to be an expectation that a Christian should always be happy, upbeat, joyful, and full of the spirit of the celebration. Perhaps pastors have even more of an expectation placed upon them. We are the shepherds, and if the shepherd appears to be downcast that certainly doesn't bode well for the sheep. What I'm about to share has a selfish aspect to it, but at least in my life I find that service makes me well.
On those days when I wake up and don't want to get out of bed, those days when I feel oppressed by some interior spirit that just seems to weigh heavy on my heart and mind, days when I can't even explain why I feel the way I feel, on those days I have learned the best thing I can do for myself is to reach out to another. Somehow in the act of focusing my attention toward someone who is shut in, or lonely, recently widowed, separated from a loved one, in a nursing home or a hospital, or in countless other vulnerable places, I find that in reaching out to them I begin to feel better. There are times when for countless unknown reasons I can get stuck on myself, and when that happens the best thing I can do to get unstuck is to reach out to another. And each time I take the risk of reaching out I believe I touch a little bit of heaven. Each time I choose to remain stuck forgetting about those in need outside of me, I believe I touch a little bit of hell.
When I think about the kingdom, it's not just some future place that I long for, hope for, hope to reach someday -- for me, the kingdom of heaven is here and now. Following our Lord's ways, reaching out to the poor and the needy, feeding the hungry, giving a drink to the thirsty, visiting those who are vulnerable -- all of these bring us closer, even into the kingdom today when we are doing them. These behaviors produce a natural outcome of grace. Now of course grace is a free gift from God, an undeserved free gift from God, and in no way am I suggesting that these actions are designed for us to earn grace. But I am suggesting that as we open ourselves to grace, as we follow our Lord's ways and advice, grace does come to us. And in this gospel text (Matthew 25:31-46) our Lord gives us an invitation to put ourselves in a position to receive his grace.
So my advice today is this -- shake off guilt and fear as a motivator and put on grace through service. Perhaps it may be said that as we serve others, we discover that "grace is the gift that keeps on giving."
John 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.
Diamonds
by Craig Kelly
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out... I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak....
-- Ezekiel 34:11, 16
A diamond in the rough... finding something precious in an unexpected or unattractive place. I've heard the phrase used so many times in movies or news articles that the diamond is starting to lose some of its luster. "Wow, the former moving company driver now plays right tackle for the Lions... sure found a real diamond in the rough there!" "I can't believe they found that rapper living out of his car out in the projects... looks like they found a real diamond in the..." -- you get the idea. The phrase usually finds its way into some rags-to-riches story, something to make you feel good, like there's a chance you too can defy the odds and claw your way to greatness. Kind of ties in with the whole American Dream thing, doesn't it?
Sad part is, it's so easy nowadays to just see the rough. It's becoming harder to dig in the dirt and unearth the diamonds, so many people don't really feel like trying anymore. Just ask me. I was like that.
I live in a small city, a small, poor city. The area I live in kind of accentuates the poor part. When you drive by and see old men sitting listlessly on the porch of an abandoned house, their stubbly faces drawn, their eyes blank, staring off at nothing, or when you see young men looking around nervously, quickly ducking into a back alley to complete a drug deal, or when you see young women in tight dresses walking along the sidewalk, hoping to sell their souls every night to make a few bucks... yeah, diamonds can seem pretty rare among all the rough. Probably why they're so valuable.
I moved here from out of the area. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Naïve doesn't even begin to describe my state of mind when I came here. Is ultra-naïve a word? Not that I was raised badly or anything like that. It was just that this kind of life was so far removed from where I came from. I used to live out on a farm in the middle of the country. City life wasn't exactly second nature to me.
And yet here I am, here at home in the city. And here I am, helping with a Sunday School mission to kids here in the neighborhood. Every Sunday, I find myself in a small room helping to dish out a hot meal to 20-30 kids ranging from 5 to 15, cleaning up after them, and then helping to teach them about God, the Bible, and how to live the Christian life. I'm telling you, I never even thought I'd ever work with kids, let alone kids from a poor neighborhood! Now, I'm not going to claim credit for this ministry, like it was my vision or anything. Two ladies in my church had already started it and they came to a group of us for help once more kids started coming in. My wife and I were two of the people that were recruited to help out. I think when I started, I was basically crowd control. You know, make sure the kids don't get too out of hand, help out here and there if a kid had a question, stuff like that. I was just glad to help out.
I guess I didn't realize how much this ministry would impact my life.
I'll admit, when I started there was a part of me that would look at these kids coming in, some of them with dirty, worn-out clothes, some of them with chips on their shoulders the size of Lake Erie, and would think, "Why can't they just clean up a little bit? We have a Wal-Mart; can't they buy a decent shirt? Just for once, can we have that one come in here without the attitude?" Yet, over time, I have come to see that appearances don't necessarily tell the whole story. Maybe the mother got laid off and has to focus on buying food rather than new shirts for her kids. Maybe that kid is angry at the world because he only has anger waiting for him at home every night.
And maybe, just maybe, God loves these kids anyway, just the way they are.
Maybe, just maybe, he wants them to know him, whether they live in a stable, prosperous home or not.
Maybe he's willing to seek them out, wherever they come from, whatever their background, because he loves them that much.
Maybe he loves me enough that he sought me out too.
And maybe I pray that I may see these kids, their parents, and everyone around me as God sees them.
Perhaps we all need to pray that our vision may be changed. God loves us all so much that he was willing to come and be with us, with all our dirt, all our filth, all our failings, and he loved us enough that he served us, healing diseases and doing good in places no one else would go. He loved us enough that he died for us, that we might live with him forever. He loved us enough to seek us out, filthy and stubborn as we are, and to call us his own, his prized possession. And he loves us enough that he still seeks us out even today, in both the nice and the not-so-nice parts of town. What better God and king could we ask for?
I still drive and walk and live here in this neighborhood. I still see the drunk, stubble-faced old men, I still see the drugs, I still see the women selling themselves for money. And yet I'm beginning to learn that while things may look pretty rough, in God's eyes I'm surrounded by diamonds.
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing.
Cheerful?
by David O. Bales
2 Corinthians 9:6-15
"Come on, Larry," Hal said as they walked through the parking lot. "I don't need a father who's a dentist to realize you were grinding your teeth all day."
Larry continued to walk with his head down, looking over to Hal only long enough to toss him the car keys, "Here. You drive. I can't."
Hal caught the keys and looked at them with wide eyes. Larry didn't let anyone drive his restored 1966 GTO. The two men passed in front of the car. Larry still didn't look up. "Man," Hal said, "this is serious."
Larry was Hal's Elder Mentor. Larry compared the relationship to a master sergeant for a second lieutenant. Larry was a layperson who helped a newly-minted pastor like Hal in his first church. As they got into the car, Larry slammed his door vigorously. "Now I'm glad I'm driving," Hal said, but Larry didn't laugh.
Hal waited 20 minutes, until they were out of town and traveling on the freeway across the North Dakota plains. "Now?" he said. "You're as tense as a mop being wrung."
"If you dare repeat anything you heard there today..." Larry said. "If you preach that drivel or teach that idiocy, I'll... well, I'll break both your arms."
"With broken arms I can still talk," Hal said.
"Then I'll have to mash your jaw at the same time," Larry said, but now with half a smile. "Hey! Watch where you're going." Larry pointed to the road and then settled back in his seat.
That's a good start, Hal thought. He could wait. Larry was cooling down. They had another two and a half hours to drive. Hal had every reason to wait for Larry. Larry was the supreme Elder Mentor -- a man of rock-solid faith, truth-slicing discernment, and courage to stand up against either a disobedient or a lukewarm church.
"It's just baloney," Larry said. "That's as polite as I can state it." Thus, Hal knew from his last nine months with Larry that the whole story was about to be told. He wished he had a tape recorder, because the angrier Larry was the more important the subject and the clearer he'd explain the problem and solution.
"That speaker was basically saying that if you're good, honest, faithful, and give your tithe every week then God will reward you."
"It was a little more nuanced than that."
"Not very," Larry said.
"Why didn't you speak up?"
"His conference. Not mine."
Twice a year the denomination sponsored a Saturday seminar on an important church matter. Today's subject was stewardship and the speaker had flown in from St. Louis.
"He was so crass. He should have just called it 'fund-raising,' " Larry said. "He was as transparent as a pane of glass. His little story about the couple receiving that $218 check in the mail the week before they needed $218 to pay off their year's pledge -- why didn't someone ask if they received another check the next month too?"
"Okay, Larry, what is it?"
Larry didn't answer.
"Come on, I'm waiting."
"Did you know that if I didn't tithe," Larry said, "I could buy a new car every year?"
"You don't want a new car. Now, what is it -- the deepest-downest truth, as you'd say? I know you believe God blesses us," he held his hand up to prevent Larry's disagreement. "And it's not an exact repayment for our giving."
The sun had gone down by the time Larry finally said, "Who's the mentor here?" For a moment only the Pontiac 389 cubic-inch V8 purred and the instrument panel gently lit their faces. Then he said, "I was 28 and Jan 27 when our house burned and our one-year-old daughter died in it. That's a cross. That's one heavy cross we still carry. Not as heavy now with two other kids and a slew of grandkids. But we still carry it. Did you know that?"
"I'd heard the facts."
"Now. Now," Larry shook his head fast twice, breathed deeply, and set up straight. At that Hal knew Larry was through talking about himself. "My daddy didn't have to be an attorney to pick apart that guy's reasons. He said Jesus talked more about money than anything else. That's so stupid I can't believe you pastors sat there and ate it up. Jesus talked more about God than anything else! And if you want to move in closer to human life, Jesus talked more about God's kingdom than anything else."
Hal said, "I'll grant you..."
"Here's what you do, Lieutenant," Larry cut him off and shifted in his seat to face him. "Preach about God's love for us. Preach that God cares for us and suffers with and for us -- as Jesus did. Assure us that humans are dear to God -- even those children hardly old enough to say 'Daddy' or 'Mommy.' Don't go handing us stuff we can buy at the local self-help bookstore buffet. Preach Christ, the cross, and the resurrection -- as Paul did -- and you'll have a bunch of faithful givers."
"But God said 'cheerful' givers," Hal said.
"Well, you do what I say and you'll be cheerful."
"Because church members will tithe?"
"Because I won't break both your arms."
David O. Bales was a Presbyterian minister for 33 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of the CSS titles Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story and Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace.
Thanksgiving
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 17:11-19; Psalm 65
I am prejudiced. I may as well put that on the table now, so it's not niggling at the back of your mind as you read the rest of this. Is he, or isn't he? The answer is, I am.
I am prejudiced because I feel that the best way to experience these things is to lie on a furniture pad on a lawn on South 32nd Street, beneath a clear, moonless sky; or to sit by a fire on the Wisconsin shore of Lake Michigan on a black velvet night, with the slow rhythm of the waves matching the rise and fall of your chest.
If you can't do that, at least try to slip away from the streetlights and the traffic lights, and get out somewhere where you can actually see the stars. Let yourself be bathed by the gentle shower of photons from thousands of distant suns, and contemplate the fact that most of that light left its stars before you were born -- much of it before your parents or grandparents were born, going back and back, beyond the pyramids. Some of those bundles of energy were just leaving their solar systems when your ancestors were painting animals on cave walls.
And they fall upon you now, exhausted after their long journey, but still bright enough to see.
Look up and know that for every star you see, there are 50 million more that you can't see in our galaxy alone. Leave our galactic neighborhood, and there are 100 billion other galaxies out there -- archipelagos of stars, clusters of galaxies strung out across the universe and back toward the beginning of time.
And beneath you? Beneath you is a ball of stone and water, metal and gas that came to be in what some astronomers call the "Goldilocks Zone": that narrow band that loops around our sun, where the temperature is not too hot and not too cold. A ball of star stuff, they tell us, elements expelled from suns whose light has long since faded, elements sent out into the universe to gather again, somewhere, and perhaps relight another solar fire against the darkness, or form a planet.
As it slices through this temperate zone of life, there is a wobble to its path, spinning it just enough out of true to create the precession of seasons, mirroring the cycle of life -- birth, growth, aging, dying -- year after year, age after age. We mark our lives by the seasons, tick our time off by the whirling of the planet.
Look up at the sky and fall into it, surround yourself in wonder. Chase the light far enough back, and you might find the time when there was nothing... until there was everything. Feel the wind brush your cheek, hear the whirring of the insects, draw breath and hold it, listen for the sound of your own heart beating.
And say thank you. Thank the Lord for this universe of wonder, and the gift of abundant life. Thank the Lord for the majesty we take for granted, and the glory of creation. Just for a moment, forget all the things that occupy your thoughts, all the worries of the day, and say, "Thank you."
And in the quiet of your heart, in the rustling of the leaves, you just might hear, "You're welcome!"
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.
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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.
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StoryShare, November 23-27, 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
"Be Joyful" by John Smylie
"What Motivates You?" by John Smylie
"Diamonds" by Craig Kelly
"Cheerful?" by David O. Bales
"Thanksgiving" by Keith Hewitt
What's Up This Week
The liturgical year comes to a triumphant close this week as we observe the feast of Christ the King. Then four days later, those of us in America will (literally) feast as we celebrate Thanksgiving. For many, it's a joyful time -- but sometimes it can be difficult to find joy amid all the problems and heartache of everyday life. Psalm 100 reminds us to "be joyful in the Lord," and in the feature story in this edition of StoryShare, John Smylie tells a poignant tale of a young girl who, despite her dire circumstances, finds delight in everything because she sees God's hand at work. John also muses on what really motivates us -- and shares that in his experience, the way to find joy is to serve others. Craig Kelly recounts a similar experience, and how it's helped him to see "diamonds in the rough" in an impoverished neighborhood. For Thanksgiving Day, we have a pair of additional stories: David Bales tells of an awkward conversation between a pastor and a man who definitely doesn't find joy from a stewardship presentation, and how they work through the man's discomfort to find deep truth, while Keith Hewitt gets us to think about the wonder of the earth's existence and the life on it -- something for which we all can be thankful.
* * * * * * * * *
Be Joyful
by John Smylie
Psalm 100
Joy was nine years old, and every day seemed like a miracle to her. She was wise beyond her days, perhaps because her days were numbered. I suppose all of our days are numbered, but some of us are aware that the numbers are going to be less than others. Joy's terminal cancer, which at times caused her energy to be sapped, had also created in her an awareness of and appreciation for the little things. As her cancer progressed, her world became smaller. Instead of running in the fields, Joy could only look at them through her window. Instead of playing with the other children in the playground in the schoolyard, Joy could now only remember the times of nearly getting bumped off the seesaw, whizzing down the sliding board, and flying back and forth on the large old swing with the wooden seat with peeling red paint. Joy could still participate in her class at school even though she was not there because Mr. Jones, who lived down the street and was a computer expert, set up several cameras in her classroom at school so she could monitor and listen to what was being taught. There was also a camera next to her hospice bed at her home so the kids at school could see her on the teacher's computer screen. Joy was grateful for this connection.
Her favorite part of the day was music class. Her teacher had a wonderful voice and she played the piano and sang with vigor. Though Joy's voice had grown weak because of the disease, she would always mouth the words along with the class. Because it was a Christian school, at times the class would sing some of her church favorites. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see." Joy loved that song, and whenever she would sing it she felt the presence of God. Somehow music brought her nearer to God, and she felt more connected to those around her when they sang together even though her voice was weak. Whenever she sang and heard her friends and teachers sing she always felt stronger.
One day Joy felt particularly thankful because the temperature was warm outside and the screen was off her window. As she listened to the birds sing and watched the wind create waves upon the long grass on the fields outside of her window, in flew a butterfly. It was a monarch, and she watched as it landed on her wrist. She kept very still and found herself giving thanks to God and praising him for the beauty of creation and for this moment where she could see the intricacy of his handiwork. She knew the Lord was good and she knew his mercy was everlasting. She kept very still and watched the monarch butterfly slowly open and close its wings as it rested upon her. And Joy knew that she too was resting upon the hands of God and that God was enjoying her. She knew that God's faithfulness endures from age to age. While the butterfly slowly beat his wings on her wrists she became aware of a light as bright as the dawn -- it was the face of God smiling upon her, and surrounded by her mother and her father and seen by the other kids and her teacher in the classroom the butterfly flew off and her spirit was released.
Some unknown presence, though I suspect we know where it came from, fell upon the children and they began to sing, "When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, We've no less days to seeing God's praise than when we'd first begun."
Be joyful in the Lord, all you lands...
What Motivates You?
by John Smylie
Matthew 25:31-46
Years ago I heard a saying that has stuck with me ever since -- "Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving" -- and I wonder if the word "fear" might be just as useful as the word "guilt." Most of the time when I share this saying with others, people perceive it as a kind of humor/truth message. Guilt does at times motivate us; at other times fear may motivate us, but I have to say that in my opinion neither one of those motivators is particularly helpful or healthy.
Both guilt and fear seem to me to be tools by which people can be manipulated into behaviors that may appear helpful -- behaviors that may inspire actions that are useful -- but I remain skeptical that guilt or fear can transform the heart. The message in this week's Gospel is fairly obvious. We serve our Lord whenever we serve a stranger, one who is in need, whenever we visit one who is in prison and care for the sick. We serve our Lord when we give food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty. In other words, we serve our Lord when we perform acts of kindness and compassion. Serving our Lord is not simply a kind of religious duty -- the righteous serve our Lord out of the heart of service. A heart and life that is transformed or molded in a fashion that service becomes a natural way of being, where reaching out is as normal as breathing, becomes a way of life.
One of the things I have discovered in my life is that service does me good. Sometimes there may be a subtle or hidden message that Christians are never supposed to be down. By virtue of knowing our Lord there appears to be an expectation that a Christian should always be happy, upbeat, joyful, and full of the spirit of the celebration. Perhaps pastors have even more of an expectation placed upon them. We are the shepherds, and if the shepherd appears to be downcast that certainly doesn't bode well for the sheep. What I'm about to share has a selfish aspect to it, but at least in my life I find that service makes me well.
On those days when I wake up and don't want to get out of bed, those days when I feel oppressed by some interior spirit that just seems to weigh heavy on my heart and mind, days when I can't even explain why I feel the way I feel, on those days I have learned the best thing I can do for myself is to reach out to another. Somehow in the act of focusing my attention toward someone who is shut in, or lonely, recently widowed, separated from a loved one, in a nursing home or a hospital, or in countless other vulnerable places, I find that in reaching out to them I begin to feel better. There are times when for countless unknown reasons I can get stuck on myself, and when that happens the best thing I can do to get unstuck is to reach out to another. And each time I take the risk of reaching out I believe I touch a little bit of heaven. Each time I choose to remain stuck forgetting about those in need outside of me, I believe I touch a little bit of hell.
When I think about the kingdom, it's not just some future place that I long for, hope for, hope to reach someday -- for me, the kingdom of heaven is here and now. Following our Lord's ways, reaching out to the poor and the needy, feeding the hungry, giving a drink to the thirsty, visiting those who are vulnerable -- all of these bring us closer, even into the kingdom today when we are doing them. These behaviors produce a natural outcome of grace. Now of course grace is a free gift from God, an undeserved free gift from God, and in no way am I suggesting that these actions are designed for us to earn grace. But I am suggesting that as we open ourselves to grace, as we follow our Lord's ways and advice, grace does come to us. And in this gospel text (Matthew 25:31-46) our Lord gives us an invitation to put ourselves in a position to receive his grace.
So my advice today is this -- shake off guilt and fear as a motivator and put on grace through service. Perhaps it may be said that as we serve others, we discover that "grace is the gift that keeps on giving."
John 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.
Diamonds
by Craig Kelly
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out... I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak....
-- Ezekiel 34:11, 16
A diamond in the rough... finding something precious in an unexpected or unattractive place. I've heard the phrase used so many times in movies or news articles that the diamond is starting to lose some of its luster. "Wow, the former moving company driver now plays right tackle for the Lions... sure found a real diamond in the rough there!" "I can't believe they found that rapper living out of his car out in the projects... looks like they found a real diamond in the..." -- you get the idea. The phrase usually finds its way into some rags-to-riches story, something to make you feel good, like there's a chance you too can defy the odds and claw your way to greatness. Kind of ties in with the whole American Dream thing, doesn't it?
Sad part is, it's so easy nowadays to just see the rough. It's becoming harder to dig in the dirt and unearth the diamonds, so many people don't really feel like trying anymore. Just ask me. I was like that.
I live in a small city, a small, poor city. The area I live in kind of accentuates the poor part. When you drive by and see old men sitting listlessly on the porch of an abandoned house, their stubbly faces drawn, their eyes blank, staring off at nothing, or when you see young men looking around nervously, quickly ducking into a back alley to complete a drug deal, or when you see young women in tight dresses walking along the sidewalk, hoping to sell their souls every night to make a few bucks... yeah, diamonds can seem pretty rare among all the rough. Probably why they're so valuable.
I moved here from out of the area. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Naïve doesn't even begin to describe my state of mind when I came here. Is ultra-naïve a word? Not that I was raised badly or anything like that. It was just that this kind of life was so far removed from where I came from. I used to live out on a farm in the middle of the country. City life wasn't exactly second nature to me.
And yet here I am, here at home in the city. And here I am, helping with a Sunday School mission to kids here in the neighborhood. Every Sunday, I find myself in a small room helping to dish out a hot meal to 20-30 kids ranging from 5 to 15, cleaning up after them, and then helping to teach them about God, the Bible, and how to live the Christian life. I'm telling you, I never even thought I'd ever work with kids, let alone kids from a poor neighborhood! Now, I'm not going to claim credit for this ministry, like it was my vision or anything. Two ladies in my church had already started it and they came to a group of us for help once more kids started coming in. My wife and I were two of the people that were recruited to help out. I think when I started, I was basically crowd control. You know, make sure the kids don't get too out of hand, help out here and there if a kid had a question, stuff like that. I was just glad to help out.
I guess I didn't realize how much this ministry would impact my life.
I'll admit, when I started there was a part of me that would look at these kids coming in, some of them with dirty, worn-out clothes, some of them with chips on their shoulders the size of Lake Erie, and would think, "Why can't they just clean up a little bit? We have a Wal-Mart; can't they buy a decent shirt? Just for once, can we have that one come in here without the attitude?" Yet, over time, I have come to see that appearances don't necessarily tell the whole story. Maybe the mother got laid off and has to focus on buying food rather than new shirts for her kids. Maybe that kid is angry at the world because he only has anger waiting for him at home every night.
And maybe, just maybe, God loves these kids anyway, just the way they are.
Maybe, just maybe, he wants them to know him, whether they live in a stable, prosperous home or not.
Maybe he's willing to seek them out, wherever they come from, whatever their background, because he loves them that much.
Maybe he loves me enough that he sought me out too.
And maybe I pray that I may see these kids, their parents, and everyone around me as God sees them.
Perhaps we all need to pray that our vision may be changed. God loves us all so much that he was willing to come and be with us, with all our dirt, all our filth, all our failings, and he loved us enough that he served us, healing diseases and doing good in places no one else would go. He loved us enough that he died for us, that we might live with him forever. He loved us enough to seek us out, filthy and stubborn as we are, and to call us his own, his prized possession. And he loves us enough that he still seeks us out even today, in both the nice and the not-so-nice parts of town. What better God and king could we ask for?
I still drive and walk and live here in this neighborhood. I still see the drunk, stubble-faced old men, I still see the drugs, I still see the women selling themselves for money. And yet I'm beginning to learn that while things may look pretty rough, in God's eyes I'm surrounded by diamonds.
Craig Kelly writes copy for CSS Publishing Company in Lima, Ohio. Hesitant to call himself an aspiring freelance writer, he is a self-proclaimed "dabbler" in writing.
Cheerful?
by David O. Bales
2 Corinthians 9:6-15
"Come on, Larry," Hal said as they walked through the parking lot. "I don't need a father who's a dentist to realize you were grinding your teeth all day."
Larry continued to walk with his head down, looking over to Hal only long enough to toss him the car keys, "Here. You drive. I can't."
Hal caught the keys and looked at them with wide eyes. Larry didn't let anyone drive his restored 1966 GTO. The two men passed in front of the car. Larry still didn't look up. "Man," Hal said, "this is serious."
Larry was Hal's Elder Mentor. Larry compared the relationship to a master sergeant for a second lieutenant. Larry was a layperson who helped a newly-minted pastor like Hal in his first church. As they got into the car, Larry slammed his door vigorously. "Now I'm glad I'm driving," Hal said, but Larry didn't laugh.
Hal waited 20 minutes, until they were out of town and traveling on the freeway across the North Dakota plains. "Now?" he said. "You're as tense as a mop being wrung."
"If you dare repeat anything you heard there today..." Larry said. "If you preach that drivel or teach that idiocy, I'll... well, I'll break both your arms."
"With broken arms I can still talk," Hal said.
"Then I'll have to mash your jaw at the same time," Larry said, but now with half a smile. "Hey! Watch where you're going." Larry pointed to the road and then settled back in his seat.
That's a good start, Hal thought. He could wait. Larry was cooling down. They had another two and a half hours to drive. Hal had every reason to wait for Larry. Larry was the supreme Elder Mentor -- a man of rock-solid faith, truth-slicing discernment, and courage to stand up against either a disobedient or a lukewarm church.
"It's just baloney," Larry said. "That's as polite as I can state it." Thus, Hal knew from his last nine months with Larry that the whole story was about to be told. He wished he had a tape recorder, because the angrier Larry was the more important the subject and the clearer he'd explain the problem and solution.
"That speaker was basically saying that if you're good, honest, faithful, and give your tithe every week then God will reward you."
"It was a little more nuanced than that."
"Not very," Larry said.
"Why didn't you speak up?"
"His conference. Not mine."
Twice a year the denomination sponsored a Saturday seminar on an important church matter. Today's subject was stewardship and the speaker had flown in from St. Louis.
"He was so crass. He should have just called it 'fund-raising,' " Larry said. "He was as transparent as a pane of glass. His little story about the couple receiving that $218 check in the mail the week before they needed $218 to pay off their year's pledge -- why didn't someone ask if they received another check the next month too?"
"Okay, Larry, what is it?"
Larry didn't answer.
"Come on, I'm waiting."
"Did you know that if I didn't tithe," Larry said, "I could buy a new car every year?"
"You don't want a new car. Now, what is it -- the deepest-downest truth, as you'd say? I know you believe God blesses us," he held his hand up to prevent Larry's disagreement. "And it's not an exact repayment for our giving."
The sun had gone down by the time Larry finally said, "Who's the mentor here?" For a moment only the Pontiac 389 cubic-inch V8 purred and the instrument panel gently lit their faces. Then he said, "I was 28 and Jan 27 when our house burned and our one-year-old daughter died in it. That's a cross. That's one heavy cross we still carry. Not as heavy now with two other kids and a slew of grandkids. But we still carry it. Did you know that?"
"I'd heard the facts."
"Now. Now," Larry shook his head fast twice, breathed deeply, and set up straight. At that Hal knew Larry was through talking about himself. "My daddy didn't have to be an attorney to pick apart that guy's reasons. He said Jesus talked more about money than anything else. That's so stupid I can't believe you pastors sat there and ate it up. Jesus talked more about God than anything else! And if you want to move in closer to human life, Jesus talked more about God's kingdom than anything else."
Hal said, "I'll grant you..."
"Here's what you do, Lieutenant," Larry cut him off and shifted in his seat to face him. "Preach about God's love for us. Preach that God cares for us and suffers with and for us -- as Jesus did. Assure us that humans are dear to God -- even those children hardly old enough to say 'Daddy' or 'Mommy.' Don't go handing us stuff we can buy at the local self-help bookstore buffet. Preach Christ, the cross, and the resurrection -- as Paul did -- and you'll have a bunch of faithful givers."
"But God said 'cheerful' givers," Hal said.
"Well, you do what I say and you'll be cheerful."
"Because church members will tithe?"
"Because I won't break both your arms."
David O. Bales was a Presbyterian minister for 33 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of the CSS titles Scenes of Glory: Subplots of God's Long Story and Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace.
Thanksgiving
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 17:11-19; Psalm 65
I am prejudiced. I may as well put that on the table now, so it's not niggling at the back of your mind as you read the rest of this. Is he, or isn't he? The answer is, I am.
I am prejudiced because I feel that the best way to experience these things is to lie on a furniture pad on a lawn on South 32nd Street, beneath a clear, moonless sky; or to sit by a fire on the Wisconsin shore of Lake Michigan on a black velvet night, with the slow rhythm of the waves matching the rise and fall of your chest.
If you can't do that, at least try to slip away from the streetlights and the traffic lights, and get out somewhere where you can actually see the stars. Let yourself be bathed by the gentle shower of photons from thousands of distant suns, and contemplate the fact that most of that light left its stars before you were born -- much of it before your parents or grandparents were born, going back and back, beyond the pyramids. Some of those bundles of energy were just leaving their solar systems when your ancestors were painting animals on cave walls.
And they fall upon you now, exhausted after their long journey, but still bright enough to see.
Look up and know that for every star you see, there are 50 million more that you can't see in our galaxy alone. Leave our galactic neighborhood, and there are 100 billion other galaxies out there -- archipelagos of stars, clusters of galaxies strung out across the universe and back toward the beginning of time.
And beneath you? Beneath you is a ball of stone and water, metal and gas that came to be in what some astronomers call the "Goldilocks Zone": that narrow band that loops around our sun, where the temperature is not too hot and not too cold. A ball of star stuff, they tell us, elements expelled from suns whose light has long since faded, elements sent out into the universe to gather again, somewhere, and perhaps relight another solar fire against the darkness, or form a planet.
As it slices through this temperate zone of life, there is a wobble to its path, spinning it just enough out of true to create the precession of seasons, mirroring the cycle of life -- birth, growth, aging, dying -- year after year, age after age. We mark our lives by the seasons, tick our time off by the whirling of the planet.
Look up at the sky and fall into it, surround yourself in wonder. Chase the light far enough back, and you might find the time when there was nothing... until there was everything. Feel the wind brush your cheek, hear the whirring of the insects, draw breath and hold it, listen for the sound of your own heart beating.
And say thank you. Thank the Lord for this universe of wonder, and the gift of abundant life. Thank the Lord for the majesty we take for granted, and the glory of creation. Just for a moment, forget all the things that occupy your thoughts, all the worries of the day, and say, "Thank you."
And in the quiet of your heart, in the rustling of the leaves, you just might hear, "You're welcome!"
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.
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StoryShare, November 23-27, 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.
