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"Artos" by Keith Hewitt
"Choices" by Peter Andrew Smith
Artos
by Keith Hewitt
John 6:51-58
“Six fifty-one,” a synthetic, but feminine, voice announced over the intercom. “Now serving number six fifty-one.”
In a moment of supreme irony, the man in the rumpled blue suit did not hear the announcement -- ironic, because he had been waiting for what seemed like hours for his number to be called, and was now so deep in woolgathering that he missed it. Fortunately, something caused his attention to snap back suddenly to the here-and-now in time to hear his number announced a second time.
“Now serving number six fifty-one,” the voice repeated.
He glanced at the numbered tab in his hand as he slipped through a cordon of customers, all waiting for their numbers to be called, confirmed that it was his number. Behind the counter, which curved around and out of sight behind the wall, a single man stood, waiting. Behind him were rack upon rack of bread, following the curving wall -- no two loaves the same. Above the racks, directly behind the single clerk, crimson plastic letters spelled out “Artos” in flowing script; below that a smaller sign promised, “World’s Finest Artisanal and Exotic Breads.”
“May I help you, sir?”
The man in the suit glanced back, over his shoulder, then looked back at the clerk. “You’ve got a lot of people waiting. Is everyone else at lunch?”
“Sir?”
“The other clerks -- are they all at lunch? You can’t serve all these people yourself.” For emphasis, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the long line and the knots of people standing back from the counter, waiting.
The clerk smiled, “I think I can manage, sir. We’ve found that, more often than not, people don’t really know what they’re looking for, while they’re waiting. They can use the time to make their decisions.”
The man shrugged. “OK, whatever. So what have you got?”
“Got, sir?”
“This is a bread store, right? What have you got? I’m looking for something different.”
“So -- if I may -- tell me what you like. Or tell me what you’ve tried.”
Another shrug. “Just about everything, seems like. There’s a couple I always come back to -- it’s hard to beat a warm, fresh loaf of white bread, just out of the oven, or a slice of sourdough bread with butter. But I’ve tried...” He trailed off, his eyes scanning back and forth, searching the middle space, between them, as though he might be able to see the answer there. “I’ve tried a lot of stuff. When I was younger -- more adventurous, I guess -- “ he added, with a half-smile, “I used to try whatever was popular. I kind of went along with the crowd, tried whatever they tried, ate whatever they ate.”
“We get that a lot.” The clerk opened his arms, to take in the expanse of bread racks behind him. “You can see it all here, if you’re looking. White, wheat, rye, zucchini, pumpernickel, French, Italian, unleavened, soda -- “
The man in the suit nodded quickly. “Yeah, I get it.”
“ -- ciabatta, flat, cinnamon, sourdough, friendship -- “
“I get it, you have lots of bread.”
“ -- more flavors than you can imagine. Cinnamon-apple sourdough, ciabatta with raisins and cucumber -- “
“Eww!”
“I haven’t even gotten to the exotic stuff, yet. So we come back to the original question: tell me what you want.”
“I want...I want...” The customer trailed off, frowning. “It’s hard to describe, I guess because I don’t know exactly what it is.”
“Try,” the clerk urged, looking at him closely. After a moment, he added, “Or I’ll start naming bread varieties again,” smiling to blunt the edge.
A short silence, then, “I want to not be hungry. All of the bread I’ve eaten, all f the things I’ve tried, they tasted good, in the moment. Most of them, anyway. They tasted good, and they made me feel like, ‘Yeah, this is what I’ve been looking for.’ But then in an hour...or two hours...I’m hungry again. Even my old favorites, the ones I grew up on, the ones that used to work when I was younger...none of them seem to be doing the trick, anymore. Nothing fills me. Nothing gives me that full, satisfied feeling, anymore. Not for very long, at least. And then I’m hungry again.” He shrugged again. “Weird, huh?”
“Not was weird as you think -- we get that a lot. In fact, I’d say most of our customers come in with the same story, more or less.”
“So what do you recommend to them?”
“Well, first I tell them they have a choice. They can continue as they are, doing what they’ve been doing. But the truth is, once they’ve come to the same realization you have, doing the same-ol’ same-ol’ is never going to satisfy them.”
“So then what?”
“Then I offer them the specialite de la maison -- “ he pronounced it with a French flourish, “ -- the only bread I really recommend for anybody.”
“You mean out of all the breads you’ve been talking about, there’s only one you would recommend?”
“Exactly! We call it, the bread of life.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter so he could draw closer to the customer, until he was nearly face to face. When he spoke, his voice was lowered, the tone confidential, almost conspiratorial. “You eat this bread...and you will never be hungry again. Ever.”
There was a long silence. “How is that even possible?” the man in the suit asked. “How is it possible to eat bread that will satisfy your hunger forever?”
“Because it’s exactly what you’ve been searching for, even if you didn’t know it, and it contains everything you need...or will ever need.”
Another silence. “OK, let’s play along with you for a minute. If that’s true, what you say about this ‘bread of life’ -- “
“Oh, it is,” the clerk promised with a smile.
“ -- then it has to be expensive. Very expensive. What does it cost?” He pulled out his wallet, waited for the man behind the counter to speak.
“Oh, you can put that away, sir. You can’t buy the bread of life with money. The only way you can get it -- pay for it, if that’s how you want to look at it -- the only way you can pay for it is to do two things.” He paused, waiting expectantly.
“OK, I’ll bite,” the man in the suit asked, when the clerk didn’t immediately continue.
He held up a finger. “First, you have to ask for it. You can’t get it unless you ask for it.” He held up a second finger. “Second, you have to -- well, it only really works the way it’s supposed to -- once you take it, once you eat it, you have to give up all those other breads you’ve tried. No more bread that doesn’t fill you -- only the one that does.”
“Ever?”
The clerk shrugged. “I’m just telling you how it works.”
“Well, thank you, but that’s crazy. I’ve grown up on these other breads, sometimes I’m going to want them, too.”
“Even if you don’t need them?”
“Even when I’m not hungry, sometimes a nice slice of hot buttered bread hits the spot.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll feel the same way, once you’ve had the bread of life. But if you do, you should try to resist the temptation. What you will have had is more than enough -- anything else is not needed, or even bad for you.”
“OK, then -- thank you very much, but I don’t think this is the place for me. This just sounds...crazy.”
“Oh, it makes no sense at all,” the clerk said agreeably. “Even so, it’s true.”
“Right. Well, thanks anyway.” The man in the suit turned, and started to walk away. But there was still the hunger in his belly, the empty feeling that nothing he’d encountered yet, in his life, had been able to fill. An array of different breads flowed through his mind, some old and familiar, some one-time experiences, and there was a heaviness in his heart as he realized that each one had, in the end, left him empty. Many had tasted good, in the moment, but in the end had done nothing for him.
So if there was even a chance this other bread would work...
He stopped abruptly, turned around to find the clerk still looking at him; he realized no other number had been called yet. With a sudden lightness in his heart, a tingling he couldn’t quite explain, he took a couple of quick steps to close the distance. “Look,” he said apologetically, “I still think it sounds crazy. But I also think it’s just what I need, so tell me -- can I have this bread of life you’re talking about?”
“Are you asking for it?”
“Well -- yes, I guess I am.”
The clerk smiled broadly. “Then let me tell you the good news...”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
* * * * * * *
Choices
by Peter Andrew Smith
Ephesians 5:15-20
“No, I can’t approve this.” John handed the proposal back to his son. “Carl came to us for advice as a friend.”
“Dad, the feasibility study I did clearly says that the market is there and we could do this easily and cost effectively,” Simon said. “If we don’t one of our competitors might.”
“We’re not going to steal his idea.” John shook his head. “We don’t do business that way.”
“I give up.” Simon threw up his hands in the air. “I give you ideas like this that will benefit the company and you keep saying no. What do you want from me?”
John looked out the window for a moment and then stood up “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get your answer.” John headed into the hallway.
“How long will it take?” Simon followed behind him. “I’ve got things that need to be done.”
“Where we are going is more important.” John pulled out his phone and tapped out a message. When it chimed in reply he put it away. “Sally is covering for us and will deal with anything that comes up.”
“I’m waiting for some call backs.”
John stopped. “Is it anything our chief administrative officer can’t handle?”
“I guess not.” Simon sighed. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going and how long this is going to take?”
John smiled as he held the elevator door for his son. “I asked the same thing of your grandfather when we had this very same conversation.”
Simon’s eyebrow went up. “Gramps was a farmer not a businessman.”
John laughed as they went down but said nothing more. There was no conversation as they got into the car and headed out into the country. Simon quickly recognized where they were heading.
“Why are you taking me to the old family homestead?”
“You need to see something.”
John wouldn’t answer any further questions so Simon settled into his seat. He sat up when they turned down an unfamiliar road.
“I think you made a wrong turn, Dad. The house is the other way.”
“We’ll get there in a moment.” John pulled the car over beside a field. “This was part of your grandfather’s farm. He inherited it from his father who broke the land after the war. This was his pride and joy. He loved this farm.”
“Huh.” Simon looked at the crops before him. “When I knew him he lived on the homestead and only had the garden.”
“He sold this land before you could walk,” John said. “When he had his heart attack, he wanted me to take the farm over from him like he had from his father.”
Simon snorted. “Dad, you can’t even raise houseplants.”
“Your grandfather knew that and when I came to tell him that I was going to business school he nodded and said that was best for everyone.” John chuckled and then grew quiet. “He never said anything but I think he was disappointed.”
“Dad, Gramps was as proud of you as he could be.”
“I have no doubt about that at all.” John smiled at his son. “He loved this farm though and it hurt him to sell it.”
Simon looked at the field in front of them. “Are you showing me this because you’re disappointed in me?”
John put his arm around Simon. “Sometimes we may disagree but I’ve never been disappointed in you.”
“Then why are we here?”
John turned to face his son. “What do you remember about your grandfather?”
“Gramps was always smiling and laughing. He loved to take me on hikes and show me the natural world.” Simon smiled. “He also loved to sing. I think he knew every hymn that was ever written and his face glowed when he sang in church.”
John nodded. “Do you remember his funeral?”
“Absolutely, I think everyone in the county came. I remember the sea of people all telling stories about him and saying what a good man he was.”
“Your grandfather never went to school past grade nine and spent his life working one small farm. He never had much money. He had something much more important. He was a good man.” John looked Simon in the eye. “How do you want people to remember you?”
John turned away and walked back to the car. Simon stood for a few moments watching the crops move in the breeze. He thought of the argument that had brought them out here. Simon decided in that moment that he wanted to be remembered as something greater than a savvy businessman or a success in life. He wanted to known be a good man like his grandfather and his father.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada currently serving St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things are Ready (CSS) a book of lectionary based communion prayers and a number of stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 16, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Artos" by Keith Hewitt
"Choices" by Peter Andrew Smith
Artos
by Keith Hewitt
John 6:51-58
“Six fifty-one,” a synthetic, but feminine, voice announced over the intercom. “Now serving number six fifty-one.”
In a moment of supreme irony, the man in the rumpled blue suit did not hear the announcement -- ironic, because he had been waiting for what seemed like hours for his number to be called, and was now so deep in woolgathering that he missed it. Fortunately, something caused his attention to snap back suddenly to the here-and-now in time to hear his number announced a second time.
“Now serving number six fifty-one,” the voice repeated.
He glanced at the numbered tab in his hand as he slipped through a cordon of customers, all waiting for their numbers to be called, confirmed that it was his number. Behind the counter, which curved around and out of sight behind the wall, a single man stood, waiting. Behind him were rack upon rack of bread, following the curving wall -- no two loaves the same. Above the racks, directly behind the single clerk, crimson plastic letters spelled out “Artos” in flowing script; below that a smaller sign promised, “World’s Finest Artisanal and Exotic Breads.”
“May I help you, sir?”
The man in the suit glanced back, over his shoulder, then looked back at the clerk. “You’ve got a lot of people waiting. Is everyone else at lunch?”
“Sir?”
“The other clerks -- are they all at lunch? You can’t serve all these people yourself.” For emphasis, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the long line and the knots of people standing back from the counter, waiting.
The clerk smiled, “I think I can manage, sir. We’ve found that, more often than not, people don’t really know what they’re looking for, while they’re waiting. They can use the time to make their decisions.”
The man shrugged. “OK, whatever. So what have you got?”
“Got, sir?”
“This is a bread store, right? What have you got? I’m looking for something different.”
“So -- if I may -- tell me what you like. Or tell me what you’ve tried.”
Another shrug. “Just about everything, seems like. There’s a couple I always come back to -- it’s hard to beat a warm, fresh loaf of white bread, just out of the oven, or a slice of sourdough bread with butter. But I’ve tried...” He trailed off, his eyes scanning back and forth, searching the middle space, between them, as though he might be able to see the answer there. “I’ve tried a lot of stuff. When I was younger -- more adventurous, I guess -- “ he added, with a half-smile, “I used to try whatever was popular. I kind of went along with the crowd, tried whatever they tried, ate whatever they ate.”
“We get that a lot.” The clerk opened his arms, to take in the expanse of bread racks behind him. “You can see it all here, if you’re looking. White, wheat, rye, zucchini, pumpernickel, French, Italian, unleavened, soda -- “
The man in the suit nodded quickly. “Yeah, I get it.”
“ -- ciabatta, flat, cinnamon, sourdough, friendship -- “
“I get it, you have lots of bread.”
“ -- more flavors than you can imagine. Cinnamon-apple sourdough, ciabatta with raisins and cucumber -- “
“Eww!”
“I haven’t even gotten to the exotic stuff, yet. So we come back to the original question: tell me what you want.”
“I want...I want...” The customer trailed off, frowning. “It’s hard to describe, I guess because I don’t know exactly what it is.”
“Try,” the clerk urged, looking at him closely. After a moment, he added, “Or I’ll start naming bread varieties again,” smiling to blunt the edge.
A short silence, then, “I want to not be hungry. All of the bread I’ve eaten, all f the things I’ve tried, they tasted good, in the moment. Most of them, anyway. They tasted good, and they made me feel like, ‘Yeah, this is what I’ve been looking for.’ But then in an hour...or two hours...I’m hungry again. Even my old favorites, the ones I grew up on, the ones that used to work when I was younger...none of them seem to be doing the trick, anymore. Nothing fills me. Nothing gives me that full, satisfied feeling, anymore. Not for very long, at least. And then I’m hungry again.” He shrugged again. “Weird, huh?”
“Not was weird as you think -- we get that a lot. In fact, I’d say most of our customers come in with the same story, more or less.”
“So what do you recommend to them?”
“Well, first I tell them they have a choice. They can continue as they are, doing what they’ve been doing. But the truth is, once they’ve come to the same realization you have, doing the same-ol’ same-ol’ is never going to satisfy them.”
“So then what?”
“Then I offer them the specialite de la maison -- “ he pronounced it with a French flourish, “ -- the only bread I really recommend for anybody.”
“You mean out of all the breads you’ve been talking about, there’s only one you would recommend?”
“Exactly! We call it, the bread of life.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter so he could draw closer to the customer, until he was nearly face to face. When he spoke, his voice was lowered, the tone confidential, almost conspiratorial. “You eat this bread...and you will never be hungry again. Ever.”
There was a long silence. “How is that even possible?” the man in the suit asked. “How is it possible to eat bread that will satisfy your hunger forever?”
“Because it’s exactly what you’ve been searching for, even if you didn’t know it, and it contains everything you need...or will ever need.”
Another silence. “OK, let’s play along with you for a minute. If that’s true, what you say about this ‘bread of life’ -- “
“Oh, it is,” the clerk promised with a smile.
“ -- then it has to be expensive. Very expensive. What does it cost?” He pulled out his wallet, waited for the man behind the counter to speak.
“Oh, you can put that away, sir. You can’t buy the bread of life with money. The only way you can get it -- pay for it, if that’s how you want to look at it -- the only way you can pay for it is to do two things.” He paused, waiting expectantly.
“OK, I’ll bite,” the man in the suit asked, when the clerk didn’t immediately continue.
He held up a finger. “First, you have to ask for it. You can’t get it unless you ask for it.” He held up a second finger. “Second, you have to -- well, it only really works the way it’s supposed to -- once you take it, once you eat it, you have to give up all those other breads you’ve tried. No more bread that doesn’t fill you -- only the one that does.”
“Ever?”
The clerk shrugged. “I’m just telling you how it works.”
“Well, thank you, but that’s crazy. I’ve grown up on these other breads, sometimes I’m going to want them, too.”
“Even if you don’t need them?”
“Even when I’m not hungry, sometimes a nice slice of hot buttered bread hits the spot.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll feel the same way, once you’ve had the bread of life. But if you do, you should try to resist the temptation. What you will have had is more than enough -- anything else is not needed, or even bad for you.”
“OK, then -- thank you very much, but I don’t think this is the place for me. This just sounds...crazy.”
“Oh, it makes no sense at all,” the clerk said agreeably. “Even so, it’s true.”
“Right. Well, thanks anyway.” The man in the suit turned, and started to walk away. But there was still the hunger in his belly, the empty feeling that nothing he’d encountered yet, in his life, had been able to fill. An array of different breads flowed through his mind, some old and familiar, some one-time experiences, and there was a heaviness in his heart as he realized that each one had, in the end, left him empty. Many had tasted good, in the moment, but in the end had done nothing for him.
So if there was even a chance this other bread would work...
He stopped abruptly, turned around to find the clerk still looking at him; he realized no other number had been called yet. With a sudden lightness in his heart, a tingling he couldn’t quite explain, he took a couple of quick steps to close the distance. “Look,” he said apologetically, “I still think it sounds crazy. But I also think it’s just what I need, so tell me -- can I have this bread of life you’re talking about?”
“Are you asking for it?”
“Well -- yes, I guess I am.”
The clerk smiled broadly. “Then let me tell you the good news...”
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
* * * * * * *
Choices
by Peter Andrew Smith
Ephesians 5:15-20
“No, I can’t approve this.” John handed the proposal back to his son. “Carl came to us for advice as a friend.”
“Dad, the feasibility study I did clearly says that the market is there and we could do this easily and cost effectively,” Simon said. “If we don’t one of our competitors might.”
“We’re not going to steal his idea.” John shook his head. “We don’t do business that way.”
“I give up.” Simon threw up his hands in the air. “I give you ideas like this that will benefit the company and you keep saying no. What do you want from me?”
John looked out the window for a moment and then stood up “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To get your answer.” John headed into the hallway.
“How long will it take?” Simon followed behind him. “I’ve got things that need to be done.”
“Where we are going is more important.” John pulled out his phone and tapped out a message. When it chimed in reply he put it away. “Sally is covering for us and will deal with anything that comes up.”
“I’m waiting for some call backs.”
John stopped. “Is it anything our chief administrative officer can’t handle?”
“I guess not.” Simon sighed. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going and how long this is going to take?”
John smiled as he held the elevator door for his son. “I asked the same thing of your grandfather when we had this very same conversation.”
Simon’s eyebrow went up. “Gramps was a farmer not a businessman.”
John laughed as they went down but said nothing more. There was no conversation as they got into the car and headed out into the country. Simon quickly recognized where they were heading.
“Why are you taking me to the old family homestead?”
“You need to see something.”
John wouldn’t answer any further questions so Simon settled into his seat. He sat up when they turned down an unfamiliar road.
“I think you made a wrong turn, Dad. The house is the other way.”
“We’ll get there in a moment.” John pulled the car over beside a field. “This was part of your grandfather’s farm. He inherited it from his father who broke the land after the war. This was his pride and joy. He loved this farm.”
“Huh.” Simon looked at the crops before him. “When I knew him he lived on the homestead and only had the garden.”
“He sold this land before you could walk,” John said. “When he had his heart attack, he wanted me to take the farm over from him like he had from his father.”
Simon snorted. “Dad, you can’t even raise houseplants.”
“Your grandfather knew that and when I came to tell him that I was going to business school he nodded and said that was best for everyone.” John chuckled and then grew quiet. “He never said anything but I think he was disappointed.”
“Dad, Gramps was as proud of you as he could be.”
“I have no doubt about that at all.” John smiled at his son. “He loved this farm though and it hurt him to sell it.”
Simon looked at the field in front of them. “Are you showing me this because you’re disappointed in me?”
John put his arm around Simon. “Sometimes we may disagree but I’ve never been disappointed in you.”
“Then why are we here?”
John turned to face his son. “What do you remember about your grandfather?”
“Gramps was always smiling and laughing. He loved to take me on hikes and show me the natural world.” Simon smiled. “He also loved to sing. I think he knew every hymn that was ever written and his face glowed when he sang in church.”
John nodded. “Do you remember his funeral?”
“Absolutely, I think everyone in the county came. I remember the sea of people all telling stories about him and saying what a good man he was.”
“Your grandfather never went to school past grade nine and spent his life working one small farm. He never had much money. He had something much more important. He was a good man.” John looked Simon in the eye. “How do you want people to remember you?”
John turned away and walked back to the car. Simon stood for a few moments watching the crops move in the breeze. He thought of the argument that had brought them out here. Simon decided in that moment that he wanted to be remembered as something greater than a savvy businessman or a success in life. He wanted to known be a good man like his grandfather and his father.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada currently serving St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things are Ready (CSS) a book of lectionary based communion prayers and a number of stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
*****************************************
StoryShare, August 16, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
