The Gift Of Seeing
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
"The Gift Of Seeing" by John Sumwalt
"The Joy Of The Lord" by John Sumwalt
"Uncle Hilbert" by John Sumwalt
"Please Don'tAmputate The Body" by Gregory L. Tolle
"Her First Sabbath" by Sandra Herrmann
What's Up This Week
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me... He has sent me to bring good news to the poor." Jesus' reading of this message was so awesome. "Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing."
The fullness of this message -- the depth of its potential -- must have overwhelmed the listeners in the temple that day. We are wise to retain that awe, that open-mouthed shock, whenever we read this scripture. "This passage is fulfilled.... in your hearing." It prompts us all to shout "Alleluia!"
The Gift Of Seeing
John Sumwalt
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
Prophets, or seers, as they have been called sometimes over the ages, are gifted in a way that is not much not recognized in the church these days. They see into another dimension, and experience things that seem foreign to most everyone else, if not downright weird. This gift of seeing, though dismissed as just imagination by some and as fraud by others, is not uncommon, just not commonly recognized.
Transcendent experiences open our eyes to all that is around us. We begin to see with what is called our "third eye" or "sixth sense." It allows us a view of the unseen world, unseen by most of us most of the time, and just as real as the one we can see, touch, taste, and hear. It becomes visible in fleeting moments of grace, often for no apparent reason.
I woke at 3:00 a.m. a few years ago to answer nature's call, got out of bed and was just about to walk toward the bathroom when I noticed a figure, a spirit which had the form of my wife, Jo. The spirit was moving toward the bed where I could see Jo's head on her pillow and her body clearly under the covers. Jo's spirit was outside of her body. It blew my mind and I still don't fully understand it, nor did Jo have an explanation or memory of it when I told her what I had seen later that morning. I do know I have always had a good grasp of reality and I know I wasn't dreaming. I have read that we have a silver cord that connects the spiritual body to the physical body -- and that sometimes we leave our physical bodies while sleeping and wander about in our spiritual bodies. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.
According to family lore, my great-great grandmother, Catherine Isbell, was once unconscious and near death with pneumonia at a time when doctors were few and far between. When the doctor finally arrived at her homestead out on the prairie in Oklahoma, he took one look at her and gave her an injection in the arm. When she regained consciousness she was angry, "Oh! I was almost in heaven. I could see over there and it was beautiful, and then the devil came along and poked his spear in my arm, and here I am back in the world!"
Once you have an experience like this you are never the same. You have looked over the edge of the world as we know it and there is no going back, not completely anyway; the other world and its incomparable wonders is etched forever in memory. Tony Compalo wrote, "Once one has experienced the transcendent... one can never again be content with the world the way it is." The apostle Paul, who clearly had a gift for seeing, was very likely describing such a near-death experience when he wrote:
"And I know that such a person -- whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows -- was caught up into Paradise and heard things that are not to be told, that no mortal is permitted to repeat" (2 Corinthians 12:3 & 4).
In December of 2005 a young mother wrote to me in response to a vision survey I sent out.
She wrote about some powerful life-changing experiences that she had shared with only three trusted people in her life. She said she wanted to tell her pastor but was afraid he wouldn't understand:
I have had three experiences that have been unexplainable by scientific standards... I (have) such a hard time describing them... It's like trying to describe color that doesn't exist. It's like going 90 mph on roller skates when you have never skated before, or like slipping off the world and into another dimension where none of our rules (gravity, time, etc.) apply. It's confusing, and it's terrifying... I feel a sense of isolation, because I cannot share them with others. I fear they will think I'm making them up, or that I'm crazy. I assure you, neither is true.
After reading an account of her visions, which were indeed among the most remarkable I have known, I wrote to her that her visions were similar to others I had heard and to some visions found in the Bible. She replied: "It is a giddy sort of relief to find that this sort of thing does in fact happen to 'everyday people.' "
All of us in the church have a responsibility to affirm the gifts of those who come into our lives, especially those with gifts that are not much valued elsewhere.
The Joy Of The Lord
John Sumwalt
"... this day is holy to our Lord; ... do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."
-- Nehemiah 8:10b
I remember visiting my father in the nursing home during the last several weeks before he died in September of 1998. Each day he sank lower as he fought a losing battle with Parkinson's and heart disease.
I recall how saddened I was by his suffering, the loneliness of the nursing home, the physical and emotional pain as he experienced loss after loss of functions he had taken for granted all his life. I recoiled at his bursts of anger. I knew all about the stages of dying, but knowing what's coming, and why, did not make it easier to bear. This four-year veteran of World War II who had dodged bullets in the sand dunes of North Africa and on the mountains of Italy was not going "gentle into that dark night," and I was struggling with the meaning of it all.
Then came a moment of grace. The last time I visited Dad in his room at Pine Valley Manor, near Richland Center, Wisconsin where I grew up, I found him in a sweeter mood, more malleable, the anger and defiant resistance against the relentless progression of the diseases forgotten for a moment. His birds were singing in their cages and he was playing on his mouth organ an old hymn that I remember well. I sang with the birds as he played:
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God has done,
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your many blessings, see what God has done!1
It was a fleeting epiphany for me, and I think also for Dad. Just for a moment the sweet familiar tune of that old gospel hymn took us to that place of trust and peace that the disciples must have known when Jesus gave them glimpses of the kingdom. We were given "a taste of the world to come," of a transcendent joy that warms the heart and fills the soul. I still take strength from that gift of pure grace.
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1. Johnson Oatman, Jr., "Count Your Blessings," Tabernacle Hymns Number Four (Chicago: Tabernacle Publishing Company, 1951), p. 50.
Uncle Hilbert
by John Sumwalt
...the decrees of the Lord are sure, making wise the simple.
-- Psalm 19:7b
But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.
-- 1 Corinthians 12:24b-25
Uncle Hilbert used to stand at the front door of the church every Sunday morning and greet everyone as they came into worship. He always had a big smile on his face as he called all of us by name, and he had a special handshake for us kids. It was a rare day when he wasn't there, and when he was absent church wasn't the same. You had the feeling that something essential was missing.
I don't know why we called him Uncle. He was nobody's uncle as far as I know. He had a couple of married sisters who lived in the city, but neither of them had any kids. The little kids called him Hilly, but to everyone else he was Uncle Hilbert, or just plain Uncle. "Good morning, Uncle," Mr. Tolbert would say when Hilbert stopped in at the grocery store each morning after walking with us kids to school. He had regular rounds that he made every day. He would meet us at the corner at 7:30 a.m. and walk with us as far as the playground; then he would stop at the store, visit with Mr. Tolbert for a while, and buy some candy or a pop; then he would head over to the feed mill to watch them grind corn and oats. Sometimes one of the men would let him ride along on the truck while he made a delivery to one of the farms outside of town. Just before noon, about the time the curd was beginning to set, you would find Hilbert over at the cheese factory. They always gave him a white hat and let him watch as they cut up the curd. When they were done, Mr. Sweeney would give him a bagful to take home to his mother so they could have fresh curd for lunch.
In the afternoons Hilbert would get out his bike. For some reason his mother wouldn't let him ride it in the mornings. It was a beautiful red and white Schwinn with headlights, reflectors, rear-view mirror, side baskets, an oompah horn, a license plate that said "Green Bay Packer Backer," and long bushy squirrel tails dangling from each handlebar. It was the envy of every kid in town. Hilbert used to let us ride it sometimes on the way home from school, until his mother found out, and then that was the end of that.
Hilbert claimed to be more than fifty years old. None of us kids believed he could possibly be that old until one Saturday morning, when his mother was gone, he invited some of us up to his room in the second story of their house and let us watch while he shaved. He also showed us his collections of old comic books and baseball cards. He had hundreds and hundreds of them, many of them over twenty years old. We decided that maybe he was as old as he said he was. I think it was around that time that I asked my dad why Hilbert had never grown up, and he said something about some people being born that way.
That was also about the time that we got a new preacher, the one my folks never liked. His sermons were way too long, and from the tone of them you would have thought we were the most wicked congregation God had anywhere in the world. The new preacher didn't want Hilbert to stand by the door and greet people on Sunday mornings. He always sent him on some kind of errand about the time people started to arrive, just to get him out of the way. This was the same preacher who refused to let Hilbert take communion. He said he didn't understand what it meant and it would be a sacrilege for anyone to approach the altar under those circumstances. It must have been a long three years for Hilbert, until that preacher finally left and we got one who wasn't quite so particular.
It was about a year after that when Hilbert's mother died and he came to live with us on the farm. We put him up in the spare room, where the hired man stayed when we had one. We kids thought it was great fun to have him around all of the time. He went berry picking with us, and fishing and swimming in the creek. He also liked to help us with our chores, and we were glad to let him. We had to watch him, though. One time he hopped on the tractor, started it up, put it in gear, and was headed straight for the barn before Dad saw him and somehow managed to climb on from the back and get it stopped before it crashed into the barn. I'll never forget how mad Dad was. He yelled at Hilbert for quite a while, and when he was done with him he yelled at us for allowing it happen. That was the last straw. Dad said it was too dangerous for Hilbert to stay on the farm. He said he was going to make arrangements for him to live somewhere else.
They had a big community meeting at the church on a Thursday night to decide what to do with Uncle Hilbert. Hilbert was there, too. He sat in the back pew with us kids. He didn't greet people at the door when they came in that night, and he didn't smile much either, as he usually did. We could tell that he was upset. He just sat in the pew and pretended to read one of his comic books.
The general consensus was that Hilbert should be sent to the county farm. Since he had little money, no relatives, and no friends who were willing to take him in, it seemed the only logical thing to do. Someone said that Hilbert would be happy there once he got used to it, said they had crafts that he could do and there was bingo on Fridays. Surely he would enjoy that. Why, he would probably be a lot better off there than he could ever be in town, where there was nothing for someone like him to do.
It seemed to be all settled when Mrs. Drury stood up and said in a loud, emphatic voice, "I will not let you send Hilbert away!" Mrs. Drury was the widow of the blacksmith, a quiet little woman who rarely said anything to anyone. She was the last person anyone would have expected to speak out at a public meeting. The church became very quiet. Everyone waited to hear what she was going to say.
"When I was sick last year," she went on, "Hilbert came to see me every day. He fed the dog for me and watered my plants. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there. I'm not faulting the rest of you. I'm sure you would have come if I had asked you. The point is, Hilbert was there. No siree, I won't stand by and allow you to put him away. He will come and live with me."
Hilbert lived with Mrs. Drury until he died, about ten years later. It all seems like such a long time ago now. But I still see Uncle Hilbert's smiling face when I walk in the door of the church on Sunday mornings, and in the quiet time before the service, as I prepare myself for worship, I thank God for all that he gave us.
Author's note: In loving memory of my uncle, Max Long; my aunt, Mary Long; and our neighbor, Donald Moore. They are the Uncle Hilberts for whose lives I still give thanks.
John Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of eight books for CSS. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. This story appears in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C, pp. 37-40.
Please Don'tAmputate The Body
by Gregory L. Tolle
For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body -- Jews or Greeks, slaves or free -- and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many.... Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.
-- 1 Corinthians 12:12-14, 27
The 1975 movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a satirical look at the Middle Ages through the eyes of the famed British comedy troupe Monty Python. Graham Chapman portrays Arthur, King of the Britons, who assembles a group of knights to sit with him at his round table. God appears to them from a cloud and tells them to find the Holy Grail. They reluctantly agree and begin their search.
While searching for the Grail, King Arthur encounters the ominous Black Knight (portrayed by John Cleese). The Black Knight refuses to let the king pass, and a battle ensues. The king cuts off the knight's left arm and then says, "Now stand aside, worthy adversary."
The knight responds, "'Tis but a scratch... I've had worse. Come on, you pansy."
Still wielding his sword in his right hand, the knight attacks the king -- until he loses that arm as well. King Arthur proclaims victory, but the armless knight will not give up. He continues to fight by kicking and head-butting Arthur.
The king replies, "Look... you've got no arms left."
And the Black Knight retorts, "It's just a flesh wound. Chicken. Chicken."
Arthur then dismembers both of the knight's legs -- and the Black Knight responds, "All right, we'll call it a draw." Still unwilling to concede, the knight yells as Arthur rides off, "I see... running away then. Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite your legs off."
We are so much like the Black Knight -- unwilling to admit that our body has been amputated. But when we are not at church, our body of Christ is incomplete. The effect of our dismemberment has been stated: "Every time you are absent from church, it is a vote to close the church doors."
The truth of those words causes discomfort. The church is only as strong as its attendance because our strength comes from pulling together, and our absence makes us weaker.
It is when we pull together -- in worship and Sunday school -- that we are the body of Christ, and we need all of our members present. When we are not here, the body is amputated -- it is as if we have cut off a leg. Maybe we can still function, but we are not at full strength. We hobble more than we run.
Let's not amputate the body of Christ and be in denial about it. Let's make the body of Christ strong by pulling together as we worship our worthy God.
Gregory L. Tolle is the senior minister at First United Methodist Church in Durant, Oklahoma. He is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit. This story appears in Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Series V, Cycle C), pp. 42-43.
Her First Sabbath
By Sandra Herrmann
Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.... When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour." And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
-- Luke 4:14-21
Josh was digging out a hole to plant the lilac bush he'd just brought home when the lady next door approached the fence.
"You must be the new neighbor," she said.
"Yep. We just moved here from Wisconsin. My wife got a promotion with her publishing company." Joshua extended his hand.
"Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Rachel Kaufman. Your wife is that beautiful blonde I've seen coming and going?"
"That would be the one. Kristen. And your husband is the fellow with the black curly hair?" Josh ran a hand through his thinning ash hair.
Rachel giggled, and said, "Yes, Joshua's the envy of every man for 50 miles."
"No fair!" Josh made a face. "We have the same name, and he got all the hair!"
They laughed as Rachel Kaufman proudly introduced her children -- Daniel, Leah, and Gideon. Each of the children had large brown eyes and the curly hair of their father. And they all laughed easily. Josh could hardly wait to tell Kristen what good neighbors they had.
As the weeks passed, he would tell Kristen stories about their encounters, but somehow she was never out in the yard when the Kaufmans were, so they remained strangers. Until, that is, Rachel caught Kristen one morning as she was leaving for work.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kristen. I have a little something for you." And so saying, she presented a plastic bag with slices of something coated with nuts. "I hope you'll enjoy it."
Kristen eyed the bag. "What is it?"
Rachel smiled. "Monlach -- it's poppy seed, honey, and walnut candy. A special dessert for Purim."
Kristen blinked. "What's Purim?"
"Our Jewish spring holiday. I made a huge batch this year, so we still have some left. Enjoy."
And off she went, with a quick wave as she hurried back to the house.
That evening, Kristen brought the unopened bag to Josh. "Want some?"
Josh opened the bag and popped a piece in his mouth. "Mmm! Honey and nuts. Hey, this is great stuff," he said around a second piece.
Kristen blushed.
"What?" Josh asked, digging for a third piece of the candy.
"I didn't try them. Are they really tasty?" At the look on Josh's face, her blush deepened. "Well, I didn't know what was in them. I don't know anything about Jewish food."
"Well, get over it honey. I've accepted their invitation for Sabbath dinner this Friday. It'll be a great experience!" At her look of incredulity, Josh laughed and kissed her. "Daniel says that the Sabbath is just a good time with family, friends, and good food. It's supposed to be fun."
But for the rest of the week, Rachel was anxious, not knowing what to expect. She didn't want to embarrass herself or the Kaufmans, so she got on the internet to check out what the Sabbath was all about.
When Friday came, she made a point of leaving work early. Sabbath, she had learned, began at sundown, and she didn't want heavy traffic to make them late.
Joshua Kaufman answered the doorbell. "Shabbat shalom! That means, 'a good and peaceful Sabbath.' Come in."
Kristen couldn't resist his warmth. And when they were ushered to the dining room, she was amazed at the beautifully decorated table. There were even candles on the table.
"Do you do this every Friday?" she asked, savoring the smell of roasting chicken.
Joshua answered her. "Yes, though we put out the good china for our guests. The Torah tells us that the Sabbath is a day in which to celebrate, to eat good food, and to include our neighbors in that celebration. After all, 'The joy of the Lord is our strength.' "
Kristen gasped. "We just read that in our Bible study at church! That was our memory verse for the week. That's the perfect touch for my first Sabbath experience."
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StoryShare, January 21, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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What's Up This Week
"The Gift Of Seeing" by John Sumwalt
"The Joy Of The Lord" by John Sumwalt
"Uncle Hilbert" by John Sumwalt
"Please Don'tAmputate The Body" by Gregory L. Tolle
"Her First Sabbath" by Sandra Herrmann
What's Up This Week
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me... He has sent me to bring good news to the poor." Jesus' reading of this message was so awesome. "Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing."
The fullness of this message -- the depth of its potential -- must have overwhelmed the listeners in the temple that day. We are wise to retain that awe, that open-mouthed shock, whenever we read this scripture. "This passage is fulfilled.... in your hearing." It prompts us all to shout "Alleluia!"
The Gift Of Seeing
John Sumwalt
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
Prophets, or seers, as they have been called sometimes over the ages, are gifted in a way that is not much not recognized in the church these days. They see into another dimension, and experience things that seem foreign to most everyone else, if not downright weird. This gift of seeing, though dismissed as just imagination by some and as fraud by others, is not uncommon, just not commonly recognized.
Transcendent experiences open our eyes to all that is around us. We begin to see with what is called our "third eye" or "sixth sense." It allows us a view of the unseen world, unseen by most of us most of the time, and just as real as the one we can see, touch, taste, and hear. It becomes visible in fleeting moments of grace, often for no apparent reason.
I woke at 3:00 a.m. a few years ago to answer nature's call, got out of bed and was just about to walk toward the bathroom when I noticed a figure, a spirit which had the form of my wife, Jo. The spirit was moving toward the bed where I could see Jo's head on her pillow and her body clearly under the covers. Jo's spirit was outside of her body. It blew my mind and I still don't fully understand it, nor did Jo have an explanation or memory of it when I told her what I had seen later that morning. I do know I have always had a good grasp of reality and I know I wasn't dreaming. I have read that we have a silver cord that connects the spiritual body to the physical body -- and that sometimes we leave our physical bodies while sleeping and wander about in our spiritual bodies. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.
According to family lore, my great-great grandmother, Catherine Isbell, was once unconscious and near death with pneumonia at a time when doctors were few and far between. When the doctor finally arrived at her homestead out on the prairie in Oklahoma, he took one look at her and gave her an injection in the arm. When she regained consciousness she was angry, "Oh! I was almost in heaven. I could see over there and it was beautiful, and then the devil came along and poked his spear in my arm, and here I am back in the world!"
Once you have an experience like this you are never the same. You have looked over the edge of the world as we know it and there is no going back, not completely anyway; the other world and its incomparable wonders is etched forever in memory. Tony Compalo wrote, "Once one has experienced the transcendent... one can never again be content with the world the way it is." The apostle Paul, who clearly had a gift for seeing, was very likely describing such a near-death experience when he wrote:
"And I know that such a person -- whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows -- was caught up into Paradise and heard things that are not to be told, that no mortal is permitted to repeat" (2 Corinthians 12:3 & 4).
In December of 2005 a young mother wrote to me in response to a vision survey I sent out.
She wrote about some powerful life-changing experiences that she had shared with only three trusted people in her life. She said she wanted to tell her pastor but was afraid he wouldn't understand:
I have had three experiences that have been unexplainable by scientific standards... I (have) such a hard time describing them... It's like trying to describe color that doesn't exist. It's like going 90 mph on roller skates when you have never skated before, or like slipping off the world and into another dimension where none of our rules (gravity, time, etc.) apply. It's confusing, and it's terrifying... I feel a sense of isolation, because I cannot share them with others. I fear they will think I'm making them up, or that I'm crazy. I assure you, neither is true.
After reading an account of her visions, which were indeed among the most remarkable I have known, I wrote to her that her visions were similar to others I had heard and to some visions found in the Bible. She replied: "It is a giddy sort of relief to find that this sort of thing does in fact happen to 'everyday people.' "
All of us in the church have a responsibility to affirm the gifts of those who come into our lives, especially those with gifts that are not much valued elsewhere.
The Joy Of The Lord
John Sumwalt
"... this day is holy to our Lord; ... do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."
-- Nehemiah 8:10b
I remember visiting my father in the nursing home during the last several weeks before he died in September of 1998. Each day he sank lower as he fought a losing battle with Parkinson's and heart disease.
I recall how saddened I was by his suffering, the loneliness of the nursing home, the physical and emotional pain as he experienced loss after loss of functions he had taken for granted all his life. I recoiled at his bursts of anger. I knew all about the stages of dying, but knowing what's coming, and why, did not make it easier to bear. This four-year veteran of World War II who had dodged bullets in the sand dunes of North Africa and on the mountains of Italy was not going "gentle into that dark night," and I was struggling with the meaning of it all.
Then came a moment of grace. The last time I visited Dad in his room at Pine Valley Manor, near Richland Center, Wisconsin where I grew up, I found him in a sweeter mood, more malleable, the anger and defiant resistance against the relentless progression of the diseases forgotten for a moment. His birds were singing in their cages and he was playing on his mouth organ an old hymn that I remember well. I sang with the birds as he played:
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God has done,
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your many blessings, see what God has done!1
It was a fleeting epiphany for me, and I think also for Dad. Just for a moment the sweet familiar tune of that old gospel hymn took us to that place of trust and peace that the disciples must have known when Jesus gave them glimpses of the kingdom. We were given "a taste of the world to come," of a transcendent joy that warms the heart and fills the soul. I still take strength from that gift of pure grace.
-------------
1. Johnson Oatman, Jr., "Count Your Blessings," Tabernacle Hymns Number Four (Chicago: Tabernacle Publishing Company, 1951), p. 50.
Uncle Hilbert
by John Sumwalt
...the decrees of the Lord are sure, making wise the simple.
-- Psalm 19:7b
But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.
-- 1 Corinthians 12:24b-25
Uncle Hilbert used to stand at the front door of the church every Sunday morning and greet everyone as they came into worship. He always had a big smile on his face as he called all of us by name, and he had a special handshake for us kids. It was a rare day when he wasn't there, and when he was absent church wasn't the same. You had the feeling that something essential was missing.
I don't know why we called him Uncle. He was nobody's uncle as far as I know. He had a couple of married sisters who lived in the city, but neither of them had any kids. The little kids called him Hilly, but to everyone else he was Uncle Hilbert, or just plain Uncle. "Good morning, Uncle," Mr. Tolbert would say when Hilbert stopped in at the grocery store each morning after walking with us kids to school. He had regular rounds that he made every day. He would meet us at the corner at 7:30 a.m. and walk with us as far as the playground; then he would stop at the store, visit with Mr. Tolbert for a while, and buy some candy or a pop; then he would head over to the feed mill to watch them grind corn and oats. Sometimes one of the men would let him ride along on the truck while he made a delivery to one of the farms outside of town. Just before noon, about the time the curd was beginning to set, you would find Hilbert over at the cheese factory. They always gave him a white hat and let him watch as they cut up the curd. When they were done, Mr. Sweeney would give him a bagful to take home to his mother so they could have fresh curd for lunch.
In the afternoons Hilbert would get out his bike. For some reason his mother wouldn't let him ride it in the mornings. It was a beautiful red and white Schwinn with headlights, reflectors, rear-view mirror, side baskets, an oompah horn, a license plate that said "Green Bay Packer Backer," and long bushy squirrel tails dangling from each handlebar. It was the envy of every kid in town. Hilbert used to let us ride it sometimes on the way home from school, until his mother found out, and then that was the end of that.
Hilbert claimed to be more than fifty years old. None of us kids believed he could possibly be that old until one Saturday morning, when his mother was gone, he invited some of us up to his room in the second story of their house and let us watch while he shaved. He also showed us his collections of old comic books and baseball cards. He had hundreds and hundreds of them, many of them over twenty years old. We decided that maybe he was as old as he said he was. I think it was around that time that I asked my dad why Hilbert had never grown up, and he said something about some people being born that way.
That was also about the time that we got a new preacher, the one my folks never liked. His sermons were way too long, and from the tone of them you would have thought we were the most wicked congregation God had anywhere in the world. The new preacher didn't want Hilbert to stand by the door and greet people on Sunday mornings. He always sent him on some kind of errand about the time people started to arrive, just to get him out of the way. This was the same preacher who refused to let Hilbert take communion. He said he didn't understand what it meant and it would be a sacrilege for anyone to approach the altar under those circumstances. It must have been a long three years for Hilbert, until that preacher finally left and we got one who wasn't quite so particular.
It was about a year after that when Hilbert's mother died and he came to live with us on the farm. We put him up in the spare room, where the hired man stayed when we had one. We kids thought it was great fun to have him around all of the time. He went berry picking with us, and fishing and swimming in the creek. He also liked to help us with our chores, and we were glad to let him. We had to watch him, though. One time he hopped on the tractor, started it up, put it in gear, and was headed straight for the barn before Dad saw him and somehow managed to climb on from the back and get it stopped before it crashed into the barn. I'll never forget how mad Dad was. He yelled at Hilbert for quite a while, and when he was done with him he yelled at us for allowing it happen. That was the last straw. Dad said it was too dangerous for Hilbert to stay on the farm. He said he was going to make arrangements for him to live somewhere else.
They had a big community meeting at the church on a Thursday night to decide what to do with Uncle Hilbert. Hilbert was there, too. He sat in the back pew with us kids. He didn't greet people at the door when they came in that night, and he didn't smile much either, as he usually did. We could tell that he was upset. He just sat in the pew and pretended to read one of his comic books.
The general consensus was that Hilbert should be sent to the county farm. Since he had little money, no relatives, and no friends who were willing to take him in, it seemed the only logical thing to do. Someone said that Hilbert would be happy there once he got used to it, said they had crafts that he could do and there was bingo on Fridays. Surely he would enjoy that. Why, he would probably be a lot better off there than he could ever be in town, where there was nothing for someone like him to do.
It seemed to be all settled when Mrs. Drury stood up and said in a loud, emphatic voice, "I will not let you send Hilbert away!" Mrs. Drury was the widow of the blacksmith, a quiet little woman who rarely said anything to anyone. She was the last person anyone would have expected to speak out at a public meeting. The church became very quiet. Everyone waited to hear what she was going to say.
"When I was sick last year," she went on, "Hilbert came to see me every day. He fed the dog for me and watered my plants. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there. I'm not faulting the rest of you. I'm sure you would have come if I had asked you. The point is, Hilbert was there. No siree, I won't stand by and allow you to put him away. He will come and live with me."
Hilbert lived with Mrs. Drury until he died, about ten years later. It all seems like such a long time ago now. But I still see Uncle Hilbert's smiling face when I walk in the door of the church on Sunday mornings, and in the quiet time before the service, as I prepare myself for worship, I thank God for all that he gave us.
Author's note: In loving memory of my uncle, Max Long; my aunt, Mary Long; and our neighbor, Donald Moore. They are the Uncle Hilberts for whose lives I still give thanks.
John Sumwalt is the lead pastor of Wauwatosa Avenue United Methodist Church in suburban Milwaukee. He is the author of eight books for CSS. John and his wife, Jo Perry-Sumwalt, served for three years as co-editors of StoryShare. This story appears in Lectionary Stories: Forty Tellable Tales for Cycle C, pp. 37-40.
Please Don'tAmputate The Body
by Gregory L. Tolle
For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body -- Jews or Greeks, slaves or free -- and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many.... Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.
-- 1 Corinthians 12:12-14, 27
The 1975 movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a satirical look at the Middle Ages through the eyes of the famed British comedy troupe Monty Python. Graham Chapman portrays Arthur, King of the Britons, who assembles a group of knights to sit with him at his round table. God appears to them from a cloud and tells them to find the Holy Grail. They reluctantly agree and begin their search.
While searching for the Grail, King Arthur encounters the ominous Black Knight (portrayed by John Cleese). The Black Knight refuses to let the king pass, and a battle ensues. The king cuts off the knight's left arm and then says, "Now stand aside, worthy adversary."
The knight responds, "'Tis but a scratch... I've had worse. Come on, you pansy."
Still wielding his sword in his right hand, the knight attacks the king -- until he loses that arm as well. King Arthur proclaims victory, but the armless knight will not give up. He continues to fight by kicking and head-butting Arthur.
The king replies, "Look... you've got no arms left."
And the Black Knight retorts, "It's just a flesh wound. Chicken. Chicken."
Arthur then dismembers both of the knight's legs -- and the Black Knight responds, "All right, we'll call it a draw." Still unwilling to concede, the knight yells as Arthur rides off, "I see... running away then. Come back here and take what's coming to you. I'll bite your legs off."
We are so much like the Black Knight -- unwilling to admit that our body has been amputated. But when we are not at church, our body of Christ is incomplete. The effect of our dismemberment has been stated: "Every time you are absent from church, it is a vote to close the church doors."
The truth of those words causes discomfort. The church is only as strong as its attendance because our strength comes from pulling together, and our absence makes us weaker.
It is when we pull together -- in worship and Sunday school -- that we are the body of Christ, and we need all of our members present. When we are not here, the body is amputated -- it is as if we have cut off a leg. Maybe we can still function, but we are not at full strength. We hobble more than we run.
Let's not amputate the body of Christ and be in denial about it. Let's make the body of Christ strong by pulling together as we worship our worthy God.
Gregory L. Tolle is the senior minister at First United Methodist Church in Durant, Oklahoma. He is the author of three volumes of the CSS series Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit. This story appears in Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Series V, Cycle C), pp. 42-43.
Her First Sabbath
By Sandra Herrmann
Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.... When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour." And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
-- Luke 4:14-21
Josh was digging out a hole to plant the lilac bush he'd just brought home when the lady next door approached the fence.
"You must be the new neighbor," she said.
"Yep. We just moved here from Wisconsin. My wife got a promotion with her publishing company." Joshua extended his hand.
"Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Rachel Kaufman. Your wife is that beautiful blonde I've seen coming and going?"
"That would be the one. Kristen. And your husband is the fellow with the black curly hair?" Josh ran a hand through his thinning ash hair.
Rachel giggled, and said, "Yes, Joshua's the envy of every man for 50 miles."
"No fair!" Josh made a face. "We have the same name, and he got all the hair!"
They laughed as Rachel Kaufman proudly introduced her children -- Daniel, Leah, and Gideon. Each of the children had large brown eyes and the curly hair of their father. And they all laughed easily. Josh could hardly wait to tell Kristen what good neighbors they had.
As the weeks passed, he would tell Kristen stories about their encounters, but somehow she was never out in the yard when the Kaufmans were, so they remained strangers. Until, that is, Rachel caught Kristen one morning as she was leaving for work.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kristen. I have a little something for you." And so saying, she presented a plastic bag with slices of something coated with nuts. "I hope you'll enjoy it."
Kristen eyed the bag. "What is it?"
Rachel smiled. "Monlach -- it's poppy seed, honey, and walnut candy. A special dessert for Purim."
Kristen blinked. "What's Purim?"
"Our Jewish spring holiday. I made a huge batch this year, so we still have some left. Enjoy."
And off she went, with a quick wave as she hurried back to the house.
That evening, Kristen brought the unopened bag to Josh. "Want some?"
Josh opened the bag and popped a piece in his mouth. "Mmm! Honey and nuts. Hey, this is great stuff," he said around a second piece.
Kristen blushed.
"What?" Josh asked, digging for a third piece of the candy.
"I didn't try them. Are they really tasty?" At the look on Josh's face, her blush deepened. "Well, I didn't know what was in them. I don't know anything about Jewish food."
"Well, get over it honey. I've accepted their invitation for Sabbath dinner this Friday. It'll be a great experience!" At her look of incredulity, Josh laughed and kissed her. "Daniel says that the Sabbath is just a good time with family, friends, and good food. It's supposed to be fun."
But for the rest of the week, Rachel was anxious, not knowing what to expect. She didn't want to embarrass herself or the Kaufmans, so she got on the internet to check out what the Sabbath was all about.
When Friday came, she made a point of leaving work early. Sabbath, she had learned, began at sundown, and she didn't want heavy traffic to make them late.
Joshua Kaufman answered the doorbell. "Shabbat shalom! That means, 'a good and peaceful Sabbath.' Come in."
Kristen couldn't resist his warmth. And when they were ushered to the dining room, she was amazed at the beautifully decorated table. There were even candles on the table.
"Do you do this every Friday?" she asked, savoring the smell of roasting chicken.
Joshua answered her. "Yes, though we put out the good china for our guests. The Torah tells us that the Sabbath is a day in which to celebrate, to eat good food, and to include our neighbors in that celebration. After all, 'The joy of the Lord is our strength.' "
Kristen gasped. "We just read that in our Bible study at church! That was our memory verse for the week. That's the perfect touch for my first Sabbath experience."
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StoryShare, January 21, 2007, issue.
Copyright 2007 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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