The Mighty Metaphor Machine
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "My Stuff" by C. David McKirachan
Good Stories: "The Mighty Metaphor Machine" by Stan Purdum
"To Any In Need" by Sandra Herrmann
Sermon Starter: "Deep-Fried Burritos" by C. David McKirachan
Scrap Pile: "Holy Humor Sunday"
What's Up This Week
Easter is an incredibly joyful event -- and one way that joy can manifest itself is through humor. On this Sunday after Easter, we serve up a full plate of whimsical offerings, including a pair of wry meditations by C. David McKirachan as well as a mischievous story from Stan Purdum about the horrible fate awaiting preachers who find themselves without any metaphors. In the Scrap Pile, we explore the growing trend to celebrate "Bright Sunday" as "Holy Humor Sunday." Sandra Herrmann provides a serious counterpoint with her story showing how we might live out the call in our Acts passage to "distribute to each as any had need."
A Story to Live By
My Stuff
by C. David McKirachan
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Acts 4:32-35
This little pericope is wedged in between Peter's prayer to make the apostles more powerful (so they can be more of a pain and get in more trouble) and the wonderful stewardship passage about Ananias and Sapphira. One way or another the Holy Spirit is knocking 'em dead.
But at the core of all these wild goings-on are a few verses that speak of how the Christians are treating each other. In our consumer society, this is hard to take. "Not one of them claimed any of his possessions as his own; everything was held in common." Such a wonderful concept, but just try to make it work.
I ran into this head-on just recently. I have a 21-year-old son who lives with me, and we get along very well. He's a good kid -- but...
We're working on the upstairs bathroom, putting in new floor, new fixtures, etc. My tools are in two toolboxes out in the hall: easy access, whatever I may need. But the other day, in the middle of putting up some paneling, I needed my drill and bits. The drill was there, but it had obviously been used and there were no bits in sight. It was like finding your car in the driveway without wheels. Now, unless my dog had begun a hobby as a woodworker, my son was the only other person with access. Typical kid, never puts anything away. According to the rules of evidence, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... it must be a duck.
With such profound wisdom and the authority of parental self-righteousness, I went looking for him. It takes little imagination to foresee the reef of stupidity upon which I was about to founder. With the infuriating calmness of a blasé post-adolescent, without even looking up from the computer, my son reminded me of the scenery at the church we'd been putting up during the week. So much for the duck...
The problem with holding all our possessions in common is humility. I want what I want, when I want it. That's why I call it mine. Control is a hard thing to give up. But at the core of any Christian ethics must be a profound humility and a gratitude that offers everything to God. It is the source of true fellowship and the soil into which fall the gifts of the spirit, including the gifts of miracles.
I guess it's more important to be powerful in the spirit than it is to get the paneling up on schedule, or to be right and in control. But it's really hard to share my tools...
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Good Stories
The Mighty Metaphor Machine
by Stan Purdum
"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."
John 20:29b
The news of the tragedy spread quickly and soon had pastors all over the state shuddering in horror. Rev. Hesa Goodpastor heard about it in a phone call from his friend, Rev. Bloomingwhere I. M. At.
"That's awful," Hesa said. "Gone without a trace?"
"That's what they say," Bloomingwhere responded. "They've been searching for a week now, but with every hour that passes, there's less and less hope."
"Watt must feel terrible," Hesa said, referring to their colleague, Rev. Watt A. Hardworker. "What's he going to do?"
"I don't know. He's talking about taking early retirement, but that would be a shame. He's been such a vital pastor; I don't think he'd be happy retiring this young. He's still got kids at home, you know."
Bloomingwhere had already explained the details of Watt's tragedy. After doing a commendable job as the pastor of First Community Church, Watt had accepted the call to the pulpit of Old Stone, a large downtown parish halfway across the state from First Community. Because Old Stone's parsonage would not be available for two weeks, the moving company had stored the Hardworker family's goods in its warehouse. But then, when the truck had arrived at the new home and everything was unloaded, Watt's metaphor machine was missing. It had disappeared somewhere in the mover's cavernous warehouse -- perhaps it had even been shipped out on another truck bound for who knew where.
"Of course, the mover's insurance company will cover the cost of the machine," Bloomingwhere explained.
"Yeah," Hesa said, "but the money's not the issue. Think of all the time Watt has spent with that machine of his generating metaphors. And now they're all gone. Money can't replace those. How can Watt preach without any metaphors?"
"He can't -- at least not effectively. None of us can. There isn't enough skill in all of us clergy to go on preaching week after week without some metaphors! The 'Old, Old Story' has been told so often that people tune it out without some metaphors to help them hear it afresh."
"You don't have to convince me, Bloom. I wonder if there's anyway we can help Watt."
"Well, maybe we could organize a metaphor collection. You know, we could ask every pastor in the state to send Watt one or two reliable metaphors from their machines. If we all chip in, we could probably keep Watt going for a year or two more."
"But what then?"
"I don't know," Bloomingwhere said dejectedly. "Ya gotta feel sorry for the guy."
"I certainly do, and with Easter coming up, Watt must be at a total loss."
"Yes," Bloomingwhere responded. "What a catastrophe, especially just starting out in a new church. Poor guy's already dead in the water. How can he possibly preach Easter without any metaphors?"
"Who knows? No 'butterflies emerging from the cocoon,' no 'awakening of daffodil bulbs after the long winter,' no 'flight of the Phoenix,' no 'resurrection as an image for a fresh start'..."
"He'll be left with nothing to say but that Jesus arose from the grave. Just imagine!"
Both men were silent for a moment, as they each pictured the empty abyss facing their friend Watt. But then Hesa broke the silence. "You know... the longer I think about this... maybe this isn't as much of a disaster as we think."
"You're kidding."
"No. Think about it, Bloom. The world is changing. There are new issues and concerns almost every day -- new situations where the gospel needs to be heard. New generations coming on... new challenges. This is the third millennium, for pete's sake. Maybe it really is time to dump the metaphors."
"Yes, but --"
"Sorry, Bloom, but I'm going to have to hang up now."
"Got a church meeting?"
"No, I want to call Watt and encourage him to hang in there. And then I think I'm going to do some throwing out of my metaphors here."
"WHAT?!"
"I'll talk to you later."
"Hesa! That's crazy! Don't do anything rash! Hesa! Are you there?... Hesa!... Hello?... Hesa! Don't be silly!... Hello?... Hello?"
Stan Purdum is the pastor of Centenary United Methodist Church in Waynesburg, Ohio. He has served as the editor for the preaching journals Emphasis and Homiletics, and he has written extensively for both the religious and secular press. Purdum is the author of New Mercies I See (CSS) and He Walked in Galilee (Abingdon Press), as well as two accounts of his long-distance bicycle journeys, Roll Around Heaven All Day and Playing in Traffic.
To Any In Need
by Sandra Herrmann
There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Acts 4:34-35
White Boy shuffled down the street. His run-over loafers slapped on the pavement with every step. His breath made thin white streamers, and his hands, stuffed in his pockets, were purple with cold. Hunger gnawed at him, and there was a rawness in his throat that he knew was getting worse. He needed a bowl of soup -- and a place to sleep.
White Boy didn't look around him as he walked. He tried to look like a man, with someplace he was in a hurry to get to. To look aimless was to attract attention, and attention meant trouble, either from gang members or the cops. Gangs meant a beating. Police meant questions he was not prepared to answer; police meant juvie hall, and more trouble. So he kept his head down, shoulders sloped in a determined attitude.
Which is why he didn't see the van until a voice called to him, "Looking for a place to stay?" He stopped, startled, shook his head twice, deliberately, and stepped up his pace. Places to stay carried price tags he didn't care to pay. He knotted his fists in his pocket, prepared to swing if necessary.
"Hey, kid!" It was the voice of an older boy, couldn't be more than 20, White Boy guessed.
"Who you calling a kid?" he retorted. "You wouldn't last one night on the street!"
"Oh, yeah, I'm a real innocent, and you're a tough guy. NOT."
White Boy stopped and faced the van. There was a huge white dove painted on the side of the van and a sign that said "Overnight Sleeping Space, Hot Supper, No Strings." White Boy made a face. The boy in the van looked at the sign, then back at White Boy. "OK, I can see you've been on the street for a while. Trust nobody." He didn't pause for an answer, but plunged on. "So, I tell you what. Here's a sandwich and a cup of coffee. And a blanket, if you need it. Don't come near the van. I'll put it down on the sidewalk here, and you can pick it up after we're down the street." He rummaged around behind the seat and produced a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a real coffee mug, with a lid.
As much as he wanted what he saw, White Boy backed up, ready to run, as the young man hopped out of the van, putting the food and blanket on the pavement. "Need anything else?"
Sarcastically, White Boy said, "Yeah, how about some soup? And an aspirin."
Hesitating only a second, the older boy tossed a tin of aspirin to White Boy, who caught it on the fly, deftly stuffing his hands back in his pockets. A street trick. Van Boy grinned. "OK, soup tomorrow -- same corner, same time?" White Boy just shrugged.
The van zoomed away from the curb, disappearing down the street. White Boy gobbled the food, burning his tongue on the coffee, and swallowed three or four aspirin, then hurried down the street, the blanket wrapped around him. In the darkness of an alley behind a bakery he found some warmth and the insulation of garbage-filled bags to sleep on. His dreams were filled with white doves and a smiling boy carrying buckets of soup.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Sermon Starter
Deep-Fried Burritos
by C. David McKirachan
...we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.
1 John 2:1b-2
Substitutional Atonement... that and a lot of other members of the Atonement family helped make at least part of my seminary life uncomfortable. It never made sense to me, and I had this sinking feeling that I was joining a lot of other heretics -- perhaps not at the burning stake, but somewhere near the outer limits of dazed and confused.
The problem wasn't that I didn't understand the concept. It's kind of simple. The problem was that I didn't agree with it -- like big-time. I had a hard time in my callow and inexperienced youth swallowing the judgment that the human race had done something so despicable as to offend the great and loving ruler of the universe, so as to lead him to kill his kid. This slaughter would prevent Him from deep-frying us like burritos for all of eternity. (At the time I was a bit loose with the sexist language too.)
The deep-frying part didn't terrify me. I like burritos. But the whole idea of a being so powerful and creative acting so vindictively just wouldn't go down, no matter how I tried to swallow it.
So I went back to the drawing board and tried to figure out why anybody in their right mind would come up with such a mess. I had a few choice theories. One was that the inventor was an abused child. Another was that they were rather dumb. Another was that they'd misinterpreted the message, like a bad signal on a cell phone. But finally I was driven back to the most common explanation for most of my heresies -- my own stupidity.
Sacrifice is not something that I know about firsthand, I mean the blood kind. The whole theology of sacrifice is based on an experience that I've never had. John obviously had: "...we have seen it with our own eyes; we looked upon it, and felt it with our own hands." He meant the Christ, the incarnation. Everything he talks about is based in this tactile understanding. Sacrifice is tactile. Sacrifice of the kind he talks about has less to do with buying your way out of hock than sharing, a deep relational sharing of the power and majesty of the gift. It brings the worshiper beyond the limited place of creature to a relational moment with the eternal creator, there at the cusp of life and death. (Rather Hemingway-ish, don't you think?) Our worship, our understanding, has little to compare with such mystery, sadly.
I put up with what I saw as limitations that could not be healed, until I was a pastor and stood with a family burying their child. On that day I saw them reach out and touch the body, and I knew there was more going on here than I understood. They knew the baby was gone. But their love demanded that they continue to be close to the child.
The father, who was a newly reformed Roman Catholic, asked if they could be anointed. They wanted to be touched, even as they wanted to touch. It somehow suddenly made a great amount of sense to me -- deep and honest sense. I stumbled through a service of anointing them, and since then I have sought ways to incorporate such tactile experiences of grace into the worship life of any congregation I serve. It has come to be a place of sharing and intimacy that cuts through all the words and ideas. It is tactile grace.
So, I see that my seminary struggle had little to do with the limitation of scripture and much more to do with my feeble understanding. I had tried to cram the love and majesty of God's efforts to claim us into a small space that I could manage. My cramped theology expressed through a repressed sense of worship just couldn't receive God's love. I'm Presbyterian, and Presbyterians do it decently and in order.
Far be it from me to recommend blood sacrifice. But God's love is not abstract; it is visceral down to the blood in our veins -- messy, real, and sometimes downright amazing.
Scrap Pile
Holy Humor Sunday
For centuries in Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant countries, Easter Monday and "Bright Sunday" (the Sunday after Easter) were observed by the faithful as "days of joy and laughter" with parties and picnics to celebrate Jesus' resurrection.
Parishioners and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, sang, and danced. It was a time for clergy and people to tell jokes and to have fun.
The custom of Easter Monday and Bright Sunday celebrations was rooted in the musings of early church theologians (like Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom) that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. Easter was "God's supreme joke played on death." Risus paschalis -- "the Easter laugh," the early theologians called it.
In 1988, observing that the celebration of Jesus' resurrection has been sorely neglected by 20th-century Christianity, the Fellowship of Merry Christians began encouraging member churches and prayer groups to resurrect the old Christian custom of Easter Monday or Bright Sunday celebrations, as the early Greek Christians called it.
At a time when Jesus' resurrection has been subjected to an onslaught of ridicule and disbelief, the Fellowship sought to shore up belief through ongoing resurrection celebrations.
Many churches from different traditions have responded enthusiastically. In a revival of a very old Christian custom, many churches all over the country are extending the celebration of Jesus' resurrection to "Bright Sunday" and calling it Holy Humor Sunday.
These Holy Humor Sunday services are bringing back large crowds to churches on a Sunday when church attendance typically drops dramatically. Churches are discovering that one day (Easter) to celebrate Jesus' resurrection is not enough, so in many churches fun-filled celebrations on Holy Humor Sunday have become a tradition. The congregations love these events, and look forward to them every Sunday after Easter.
The eighth annual Holy Humor Sunday celebration at Grace Evangelical Lutheran Church in Royersford, Pennsylvania, was even expanded to an entire weekend. More than 200 worship leaders and music directors from all denominations attended, and Angela Zoltek, the church's music director, authored several comedy-dramas satirizing popular TV series from a Christian point of view.
"Our resurrection celebrations have stunned those involved by their strength and power to move people," said Zoltek. "They reach every age group, and have turned a day we've called 'Low Sunday' -- because of the low church attendance -- into 'High Sunday' by boosting attendance."
Churches keep coming up with creative and hilarious ways to celebrate the resurrection. Worshipers have been invited to come dressed in their brightest colors, in outlandish clothing with funny hats (safari hat, hard hat, fishing cap, Cat-in-the-Hat hat, rubberized Mickey Mouse ears). Choirs have shown up wearing bathrobes or little-kid outfits and played kazoos. Clowns have acted as ushers and greeted people at the doors.
At Corinth Reformed United Church of Christ in Hickory, North Carolina, Pastor Robert M. Thompson dressed up as a medieval jester, and his staff as clowns. The theme for the service was taken from the Apostle Paul referring to himself and the early Christians as "fools for Christ's sake" (1 Corinthians 4:10).
Church sanctuaries have been decorated with streamers, smiley faces, and multi-colored balloons emblazoned with messages like "Smile! God Loves You!" and "Christ is Risen! Smile!" Live butterflies, a symbol of the resurrection, were released at one church.
A sign outside Maplewood (Missouri) Christian Church announced: "If you must sleep in on Sunday, sleep in here." Sleeping bags on the back pews invited people to reserve a few minutes for naps during the service.
Some churches distributed plastic Easter eggs, each containing a joke or a cartoon from The Joyful Noiseletter (the newsletter of the Fellowship of Merry Christians). At the Jackson-Idetown-Lehman (Pennsylvania) United Methodist Churches, Rev. Bonnie McGraw passed out her collection of percussion instruments -- clickers, clackers, dingers, dongers, tooters, shakers, rattlers -- and had everyone "make a joyful noise unto the Lord."
Pastors have told jokes from the pulpit. In other churches the order of worship made room for "joy breaks" and "holy humor interruptions," when church members would rise and tell their favorite jokes. Parishioners have played practical jokes on their pastors. The pastor at one church was advised that the announcements had been stolen, and if he wanted to get them back, he would have to sing "Jesus Loves Me" to the congregation.
(from the website of the Fellowship of Merry Christians -- www.joyfulnoiseletter.com/hhsunday.asp)
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What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "My Stuff" by C. David McKirachan
Good Stories: "The Mighty Metaphor Machine" by Stan Purdum
"To Any In Need" by Sandra Herrmann
Sermon Starter: "Deep-Fried Burritos" by C. David McKirachan
Scrap Pile: "Holy Humor Sunday"
What's Up This Week
Easter is an incredibly joyful event -- and one way that joy can manifest itself is through humor. On this Sunday after Easter, we serve up a full plate of whimsical offerings, including a pair of wry meditations by C. David McKirachan as well as a mischievous story from Stan Purdum about the horrible fate awaiting preachers who find themselves without any metaphors. In the Scrap Pile, we explore the growing trend to celebrate "Bright Sunday" as "Holy Humor Sunday." Sandra Herrmann provides a serious counterpoint with her story showing how we might live out the call in our Acts passage to "distribute to each as any had need."
A Story to Live By
My Stuff
by C. David McKirachan
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Acts 4:32-35
This little pericope is wedged in between Peter's prayer to make the apostles more powerful (so they can be more of a pain and get in more trouble) and the wonderful stewardship passage about Ananias and Sapphira. One way or another the Holy Spirit is knocking 'em dead.
But at the core of all these wild goings-on are a few verses that speak of how the Christians are treating each other. In our consumer society, this is hard to take. "Not one of them claimed any of his possessions as his own; everything was held in common." Such a wonderful concept, but just try to make it work.
I ran into this head-on just recently. I have a 21-year-old son who lives with me, and we get along very well. He's a good kid -- but...
We're working on the upstairs bathroom, putting in new floor, new fixtures, etc. My tools are in two toolboxes out in the hall: easy access, whatever I may need. But the other day, in the middle of putting up some paneling, I needed my drill and bits. The drill was there, but it had obviously been used and there were no bits in sight. It was like finding your car in the driveway without wheels. Now, unless my dog had begun a hobby as a woodworker, my son was the only other person with access. Typical kid, never puts anything away. According to the rules of evidence, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck... it must be a duck.
With such profound wisdom and the authority of parental self-righteousness, I went looking for him. It takes little imagination to foresee the reef of stupidity upon which I was about to founder. With the infuriating calmness of a blasé post-adolescent, without even looking up from the computer, my son reminded me of the scenery at the church we'd been putting up during the week. So much for the duck...
The problem with holding all our possessions in common is humility. I want what I want, when I want it. That's why I call it mine. Control is a hard thing to give up. But at the core of any Christian ethics must be a profound humility and a gratitude that offers everything to God. It is the source of true fellowship and the soil into which fall the gifts of the spirit, including the gifts of miracles.
I guess it's more important to be powerful in the spirit than it is to get the paneling up on schedule, or to be right and in control. But it's really hard to share my tools...
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
Good Stories
The Mighty Metaphor Machine
by Stan Purdum
"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."
John 20:29b
The news of the tragedy spread quickly and soon had pastors all over the state shuddering in horror. Rev. Hesa Goodpastor heard about it in a phone call from his friend, Rev. Bloomingwhere I. M. At.
"That's awful," Hesa said. "Gone without a trace?"
"That's what they say," Bloomingwhere responded. "They've been searching for a week now, but with every hour that passes, there's less and less hope."
"Watt must feel terrible," Hesa said, referring to their colleague, Rev. Watt A. Hardworker. "What's he going to do?"
"I don't know. He's talking about taking early retirement, but that would be a shame. He's been such a vital pastor; I don't think he'd be happy retiring this young. He's still got kids at home, you know."
Bloomingwhere had already explained the details of Watt's tragedy. After doing a commendable job as the pastor of First Community Church, Watt had accepted the call to the pulpit of Old Stone, a large downtown parish halfway across the state from First Community. Because Old Stone's parsonage would not be available for two weeks, the moving company had stored the Hardworker family's goods in its warehouse. But then, when the truck had arrived at the new home and everything was unloaded, Watt's metaphor machine was missing. It had disappeared somewhere in the mover's cavernous warehouse -- perhaps it had even been shipped out on another truck bound for who knew where.
"Of course, the mover's insurance company will cover the cost of the machine," Bloomingwhere explained.
"Yeah," Hesa said, "but the money's not the issue. Think of all the time Watt has spent with that machine of his generating metaphors. And now they're all gone. Money can't replace those. How can Watt preach without any metaphors?"
"He can't -- at least not effectively. None of us can. There isn't enough skill in all of us clergy to go on preaching week after week without some metaphors! The 'Old, Old Story' has been told so often that people tune it out without some metaphors to help them hear it afresh."
"You don't have to convince me, Bloom. I wonder if there's anyway we can help Watt."
"Well, maybe we could organize a metaphor collection. You know, we could ask every pastor in the state to send Watt one or two reliable metaphors from their machines. If we all chip in, we could probably keep Watt going for a year or two more."
"But what then?"
"I don't know," Bloomingwhere said dejectedly. "Ya gotta feel sorry for the guy."
"I certainly do, and with Easter coming up, Watt must be at a total loss."
"Yes," Bloomingwhere responded. "What a catastrophe, especially just starting out in a new church. Poor guy's already dead in the water. How can he possibly preach Easter without any metaphors?"
"Who knows? No 'butterflies emerging from the cocoon,' no 'awakening of daffodil bulbs after the long winter,' no 'flight of the Phoenix,' no 'resurrection as an image for a fresh start'..."
"He'll be left with nothing to say but that Jesus arose from the grave. Just imagine!"
Both men were silent for a moment, as they each pictured the empty abyss facing their friend Watt. But then Hesa broke the silence. "You know... the longer I think about this... maybe this isn't as much of a disaster as we think."
"You're kidding."
"No. Think about it, Bloom. The world is changing. There are new issues and concerns almost every day -- new situations where the gospel needs to be heard. New generations coming on... new challenges. This is the third millennium, for pete's sake. Maybe it really is time to dump the metaphors."
"Yes, but --"
"Sorry, Bloom, but I'm going to have to hang up now."
"Got a church meeting?"
"No, I want to call Watt and encourage him to hang in there. And then I think I'm going to do some throwing out of my metaphors here."
"WHAT?!"
"I'll talk to you later."
"Hesa! That's crazy! Don't do anything rash! Hesa! Are you there?... Hesa!... Hello?... Hesa! Don't be silly!... Hello?... Hello?"
Stan Purdum is the pastor of Centenary United Methodist Church in Waynesburg, Ohio. He has served as the editor for the preaching journals Emphasis and Homiletics, and he has written extensively for both the religious and secular press. Purdum is the author of New Mercies I See (CSS) and He Walked in Galilee (Abingdon Press), as well as two accounts of his long-distance bicycle journeys, Roll Around Heaven All Day and Playing in Traffic.
To Any In Need
by Sandra Herrmann
There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Acts 4:34-35
White Boy shuffled down the street. His run-over loafers slapped on the pavement with every step. His breath made thin white streamers, and his hands, stuffed in his pockets, were purple with cold. Hunger gnawed at him, and there was a rawness in his throat that he knew was getting worse. He needed a bowl of soup -- and a place to sleep.
White Boy didn't look around him as he walked. He tried to look like a man, with someplace he was in a hurry to get to. To look aimless was to attract attention, and attention meant trouble, either from gang members or the cops. Gangs meant a beating. Police meant questions he was not prepared to answer; police meant juvie hall, and more trouble. So he kept his head down, shoulders sloped in a determined attitude.
Which is why he didn't see the van until a voice called to him, "Looking for a place to stay?" He stopped, startled, shook his head twice, deliberately, and stepped up his pace. Places to stay carried price tags he didn't care to pay. He knotted his fists in his pocket, prepared to swing if necessary.
"Hey, kid!" It was the voice of an older boy, couldn't be more than 20, White Boy guessed.
"Who you calling a kid?" he retorted. "You wouldn't last one night on the street!"
"Oh, yeah, I'm a real innocent, and you're a tough guy. NOT."
White Boy stopped and faced the van. There was a huge white dove painted on the side of the van and a sign that said "Overnight Sleeping Space, Hot Supper, No Strings." White Boy made a face. The boy in the van looked at the sign, then back at White Boy. "OK, I can see you've been on the street for a while. Trust nobody." He didn't pause for an answer, but plunged on. "So, I tell you what. Here's a sandwich and a cup of coffee. And a blanket, if you need it. Don't come near the van. I'll put it down on the sidewalk here, and you can pick it up after we're down the street." He rummaged around behind the seat and produced a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a real coffee mug, with a lid.
As much as he wanted what he saw, White Boy backed up, ready to run, as the young man hopped out of the van, putting the food and blanket on the pavement. "Need anything else?"
Sarcastically, White Boy said, "Yeah, how about some soup? And an aspirin."
Hesitating only a second, the older boy tossed a tin of aspirin to White Boy, who caught it on the fly, deftly stuffing his hands back in his pockets. A street trick. Van Boy grinned. "OK, soup tomorrow -- same corner, same time?" White Boy just shrugged.
The van zoomed away from the curb, disappearing down the street. White Boy gobbled the food, burning his tongue on the coffee, and swallowed three or four aspirin, then hurried down the street, the blanket wrapped around him. In the darkness of an alley behind a bakery he found some warmth and the insulation of garbage-filled bags to sleep on. His dreams were filled with white doves and a smiling boy carrying buckets of soup.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. She is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS).
Sermon Starter
Deep-Fried Burritos
by C. David McKirachan
...we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.
1 John 2:1b-2
Substitutional Atonement... that and a lot of other members of the Atonement family helped make at least part of my seminary life uncomfortable. It never made sense to me, and I had this sinking feeling that I was joining a lot of other heretics -- perhaps not at the burning stake, but somewhere near the outer limits of dazed and confused.
The problem wasn't that I didn't understand the concept. It's kind of simple. The problem was that I didn't agree with it -- like big-time. I had a hard time in my callow and inexperienced youth swallowing the judgment that the human race had done something so despicable as to offend the great and loving ruler of the universe, so as to lead him to kill his kid. This slaughter would prevent Him from deep-frying us like burritos for all of eternity. (At the time I was a bit loose with the sexist language too.)
The deep-frying part didn't terrify me. I like burritos. But the whole idea of a being so powerful and creative acting so vindictively just wouldn't go down, no matter how I tried to swallow it.
So I went back to the drawing board and tried to figure out why anybody in their right mind would come up with such a mess. I had a few choice theories. One was that the inventor was an abused child. Another was that they were rather dumb. Another was that they'd misinterpreted the message, like a bad signal on a cell phone. But finally I was driven back to the most common explanation for most of my heresies -- my own stupidity.
Sacrifice is not something that I know about firsthand, I mean the blood kind. The whole theology of sacrifice is based on an experience that I've never had. John obviously had: "...we have seen it with our own eyes; we looked upon it, and felt it with our own hands." He meant the Christ, the incarnation. Everything he talks about is based in this tactile understanding. Sacrifice is tactile. Sacrifice of the kind he talks about has less to do with buying your way out of hock than sharing, a deep relational sharing of the power and majesty of the gift. It brings the worshiper beyond the limited place of creature to a relational moment with the eternal creator, there at the cusp of life and death. (Rather Hemingway-ish, don't you think?) Our worship, our understanding, has little to compare with such mystery, sadly.
I put up with what I saw as limitations that could not be healed, until I was a pastor and stood with a family burying their child. On that day I saw them reach out and touch the body, and I knew there was more going on here than I understood. They knew the baby was gone. But their love demanded that they continue to be close to the child.
The father, who was a newly reformed Roman Catholic, asked if they could be anointed. They wanted to be touched, even as they wanted to touch. It somehow suddenly made a great amount of sense to me -- deep and honest sense. I stumbled through a service of anointing them, and since then I have sought ways to incorporate such tactile experiences of grace into the worship life of any congregation I serve. It has come to be a place of sharing and intimacy that cuts through all the words and ideas. It is tactile grace.
So, I see that my seminary struggle had little to do with the limitation of scripture and much more to do with my feeble understanding. I had tried to cram the love and majesty of God's efforts to claim us into a small space that I could manage. My cramped theology expressed through a repressed sense of worship just couldn't receive God's love. I'm Presbyterian, and Presbyterians do it decently and in order.
Far be it from me to recommend blood sacrifice. But God's love is not abstract; it is visceral down to the blood in our veins -- messy, real, and sometimes downright amazing.
Scrap Pile
Holy Humor Sunday
For centuries in Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant countries, Easter Monday and "Bright Sunday" (the Sunday after Easter) were observed by the faithful as "days of joy and laughter" with parties and picnics to celebrate Jesus' resurrection.
Parishioners and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, sang, and danced. It was a time for clergy and people to tell jokes and to have fun.
The custom of Easter Monday and Bright Sunday celebrations was rooted in the musings of early church theologians (like Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom) that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. Easter was "God's supreme joke played on death." Risus paschalis -- "the Easter laugh," the early theologians called it.
In 1988, observing that the celebration of Jesus' resurrection has been sorely neglected by 20th-century Christianity, the Fellowship of Merry Christians began encouraging member churches and prayer groups to resurrect the old Christian custom of Easter Monday or Bright Sunday celebrations, as the early Greek Christians called it.
At a time when Jesus' resurrection has been subjected to an onslaught of ridicule and disbelief, the Fellowship sought to shore up belief through ongoing resurrection celebrations.
Many churches from different traditions have responded enthusiastically. In a revival of a very old Christian custom, many churches all over the country are extending the celebration of Jesus' resurrection to "Bright Sunday" and calling it Holy Humor Sunday.
These Holy Humor Sunday services are bringing back large crowds to churches on a Sunday when church attendance typically drops dramatically. Churches are discovering that one day (Easter) to celebrate Jesus' resurrection is not enough, so in many churches fun-filled celebrations on Holy Humor Sunday have become a tradition. The congregations love these events, and look forward to them every Sunday after Easter.
The eighth annual Holy Humor Sunday celebration at Grace Evangelical Lutheran Church in Royersford, Pennsylvania, was even expanded to an entire weekend. More than 200 worship leaders and music directors from all denominations attended, and Angela Zoltek, the church's music director, authored several comedy-dramas satirizing popular TV series from a Christian point of view.
"Our resurrection celebrations have stunned those involved by their strength and power to move people," said Zoltek. "They reach every age group, and have turned a day we've called 'Low Sunday' -- because of the low church attendance -- into 'High Sunday' by boosting attendance."
Churches keep coming up with creative and hilarious ways to celebrate the resurrection. Worshipers have been invited to come dressed in their brightest colors, in outlandish clothing with funny hats (safari hat, hard hat, fishing cap, Cat-in-the-Hat hat, rubberized Mickey Mouse ears). Choirs have shown up wearing bathrobes or little-kid outfits and played kazoos. Clowns have acted as ushers and greeted people at the doors.
At Corinth Reformed United Church of Christ in Hickory, North Carolina, Pastor Robert M. Thompson dressed up as a medieval jester, and his staff as clowns. The theme for the service was taken from the Apostle Paul referring to himself and the early Christians as "fools for Christ's sake" (1 Corinthians 4:10).
Church sanctuaries have been decorated with streamers, smiley faces, and multi-colored balloons emblazoned with messages like "Smile! God Loves You!" and "Christ is Risen! Smile!" Live butterflies, a symbol of the resurrection, were released at one church.
A sign outside Maplewood (Missouri) Christian Church announced: "If you must sleep in on Sunday, sleep in here." Sleeping bags on the back pews invited people to reserve a few minutes for naps during the service.
Some churches distributed plastic Easter eggs, each containing a joke or a cartoon from The Joyful Noiseletter (the newsletter of the Fellowship of Merry Christians). At the Jackson-Idetown-Lehman (Pennsylvania) United Methodist Churches, Rev. Bonnie McGraw passed out her collection of percussion instruments -- clickers, clackers, dingers, dongers, tooters, shakers, rattlers -- and had everyone "make a joyful noise unto the Lord."
Pastors have told jokes from the pulpit. In other churches the order of worship made room for "joy breaks" and "holy humor interruptions," when church members would rise and tell their favorite jokes. Parishioners have played practical jokes on their pastors. The pastor at one church was advised that the announcements had been stolen, and if he wanted to get them back, he would have to sing "Jesus Loves Me" to the congregation.
(from the website of the Fellowship of Merry Christians -- www.joyfulnoiseletter.com/hhsunday.asp)
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StoryShare, April 23, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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