An Hour To Think
Stories
Lectionary Tales For The Pulpit
Series II Cycle B
Tim wanted to get home. It would be so good to see Meg and the children again. It had been five days since his business trip began. He was so eager to get home.
Tim left the office early today. After the short plane ride earlier that morning, he would have loved to skip the office, but he needed to update the boss.
He wanted to get home so they could all go to the Good Friday service. He liked that service. Meg thought it was depressing and went to please Tim. But Tim liked it. It was calming for him. Easter services were always so chaotic and he didn't like all that commotion. He liked low-key things.
Tim was daydreaming as he rode home the last half hour of the drive. He wasn't really paying attention when suddenly his car swerved, nearly skidding off the road. He pulled over and got out. What was that noise? It sounded like a shot. He circled the car and kicked it when he saw the right front tire, flat as a dime. He instantly regretted his action. He was so grateful he didn't hit anyone. He was so glad he was in the outside lane. He thanked God under his breath for safety as he took off his suit jacket and opened his trunk. It took him an hour to get everything out of the trunk, change the tire, and put the stuff back in. Next week he'd have to clean out that trunk.
He looked at his watch. Too late to catch church with his family. He didn't feel like walking in in the middle of the service. Then he had an idea. He would go to the church across the way.
Tim slipped in quietly. Silence greeted him like a warm blanket. It was just the thing he needed. He sat in the fourth pew toward the center. He looked around, awestruck once again by his surroundings.
He knew this cathedral quite well; he had designed its new narthex. It was a magnificent structure with wings everywhere. The original church had been built over a hundred years ago. It had high ceilings, painted in the center dome. The stations of the cross were carved from wood. The statues gleamed in the low light. It was such a peaceful place.
The altar had been stripped. The fire had been extinguished. The paschal candle stood ready at the side of the altar.
Tim closed his eyes. He welcomed the silence that surrounded him. It was so good to sit in a hushed place. The quiet overtook him.
He opened his eyes and looked at the cross. It was a new one. He had heard about it. It had been carved in Montana and it looked rustic yet elegant. It was simple at a glance, but intricate carvings inside the arms defied description. They were very detailed. It was a beautiful cross.
Across the crosspiece were curves. Were they arms? A curve dipped at the center. Was it a place for a head? Tim knew that wasn't an accident. The carver was a master of the craft.
What was it like to die on a cross? It had to be horribly painful. It had to be terribly excruciating. But it had to be.
Tim thought about that for a while. What was it like for Jesus to walk up toward the cross, knowing he would have to be beaten, hanged, and killed? Yet knowing he would rise again. Wasn't that scary? Wasn't it wonderful? It had to be the worst and best of anything anyone could imagine. Tim certainly couldn't imagine what it would be like.
Tim heard a stirring behind him as a woman sat down at the back of the church. He looked at his watch. An hour had gone by. An hour. An hour of quiet. An hour of tranquility. An hour of undeniable peace.
Tim left the office early today. After the short plane ride earlier that morning, he would have loved to skip the office, but he needed to update the boss.
He wanted to get home so they could all go to the Good Friday service. He liked that service. Meg thought it was depressing and went to please Tim. But Tim liked it. It was calming for him. Easter services were always so chaotic and he didn't like all that commotion. He liked low-key things.
Tim was daydreaming as he rode home the last half hour of the drive. He wasn't really paying attention when suddenly his car swerved, nearly skidding off the road. He pulled over and got out. What was that noise? It sounded like a shot. He circled the car and kicked it when he saw the right front tire, flat as a dime. He instantly regretted his action. He was so grateful he didn't hit anyone. He was so glad he was in the outside lane. He thanked God under his breath for safety as he took off his suit jacket and opened his trunk. It took him an hour to get everything out of the trunk, change the tire, and put the stuff back in. Next week he'd have to clean out that trunk.
He looked at his watch. Too late to catch church with his family. He didn't feel like walking in in the middle of the service. Then he had an idea. He would go to the church across the way.
Tim slipped in quietly. Silence greeted him like a warm blanket. It was just the thing he needed. He sat in the fourth pew toward the center. He looked around, awestruck once again by his surroundings.
He knew this cathedral quite well; he had designed its new narthex. It was a magnificent structure with wings everywhere. The original church had been built over a hundred years ago. It had high ceilings, painted in the center dome. The stations of the cross were carved from wood. The statues gleamed in the low light. It was such a peaceful place.
The altar had been stripped. The fire had been extinguished. The paschal candle stood ready at the side of the altar.
Tim closed his eyes. He welcomed the silence that surrounded him. It was so good to sit in a hushed place. The quiet overtook him.
He opened his eyes and looked at the cross. It was a new one. He had heard about it. It had been carved in Montana and it looked rustic yet elegant. It was simple at a glance, but intricate carvings inside the arms defied description. They were very detailed. It was a beautiful cross.
Across the crosspiece were curves. Were they arms? A curve dipped at the center. Was it a place for a head? Tim knew that wasn't an accident. The carver was a master of the craft.
What was it like to die on a cross? It had to be horribly painful. It had to be terribly excruciating. But it had to be.
Tim thought about that for a while. What was it like for Jesus to walk up toward the cross, knowing he would have to be beaten, hanged, and killed? Yet knowing he would rise again. Wasn't that scary? Wasn't it wonderful? It had to be the worst and best of anything anyone could imagine. Tim certainly couldn't imagine what it would be like.
Tim heard a stirring behind him as a woman sat down at the back of the church. He looked at his watch. An hour had gone by. An hour. An hour of quiet. An hour of tranquility. An hour of undeniable peace.
