Crossroads
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Crossroads" by Keith Hewitt
"It Doesn't Take that Much" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * *
Crossroads
by Keith Hewitt
1 Samuel 15:34--16:13
The sun rose high but brought little heat to the hillside as the young man sat on a table-sized boulder with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His chin rested on his bare knees and the patchy, downy stubble at the point of it made them itch whenever he turned his head to watch the sheep that were spread around his little notch in the hills. He counted them subconsciously, noted where they were, and what they were doing... which was mostly just grazing on the grass that covered the hill like a wiry carpet.
Why? David wondered, eyes narrowing. Why me?
Life was good. It was not a life many would choose, he supposed, but it was the one he was born to -- and it gave him a sense of purpose: protect the sheep. Guide them, lead them to water and pasture, but above all else, protect them... against lions and bears, and the really treacherous creatures that prowled the wilderness on two legs. And for all the hardships the life presented, there were those moments of beauty and wonder -- the rising of the sun over the chiseled mountaintops or the ascent of the moon and all its attendants in the night sky; the smell of a campfire or the soul-embracing comfort of a bed of grass under an open sky.
This is who I am, he thought, frowning. Who I was born to be, and who I was meant to be.
"You seem troubled, my son."
Without a moment's thought, he was off the rock and on his feet, turning toward the voice, staff gripped in both hands, one end raised to strike. Only then did his eyes take in the speaker -- a tall, slender, man with gray hair, empty hands and a smile on his face. "I beg your pardon," the intruder said earnestly, without raising voice or hand. "I did not mean to scare you."
Sensing no threat, he lowered the staff, grounded one end, and leaned on it. "You didn't scare me -- I was just startled."
The old man smiled tolerantly. "My apologies for startling you, then. I was nearby, and I saw you -- and you looked troubled."
David shook his head slightly, one motion to either side. "I was thinking about something that happened yesterday. That's all."
The old man peered at him closely and then shook his own head. "Your affairs are your own -- but you look as if whatever happened is bothering you, or you would not have been so deep in thought.
"I suppose it is," David admitted, unsure as to why he was sharing so much with a stranger -- another stranger; the image of the old prophet, Samuel came to him briefly, faded away. "Tell me," he added after a moment, "what do you do?"
The old man smiled faintly. "Well, that's kind of hard to explain. I travel a lot."
"So you're a merchant?"
The old man shrugged. "More of a messenger, I would say. And I take it you're a shepherd. "
"I am. My father was a shepherd, and his father before him, and his father. I was born a shepherd, and I am a shepherd." He turned, glanced over his shoulder and swept his eyes over the hillside, counting, then turned back to the stranger. "And that is the problem. I'm being asked to become something else." He paused. "I'm being told to become something else."
"Really? Something you don't want to be?"
David shrugged. "How would I know? Being a shepherd isn't just what I do, it's who I am. I watch over them, I guide them, I make sure they're fed and watered, I help deliver lambs, when the time is right. And now I'm being told that I must leave this life and do something more, that I'm destined to a higher duty, and I don't understand it. Why me? I'm happy with what I am -- who I am."
The old man nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I see."
"And if I do this thing, I'm never going to be a shepherd again. So you see why I may be a little distracted."
"I do." The old man was silent for a moment or two, then spoke slowly, his eyebrows knit together above his nose as he spoke. "Your staff -- did you grow it?"
David frowned. "What?"
"That staff you were going to club me with -- did you grow it that way? Did you plant a seed, and up came a staff?"
"Old man, you've taken leave of your senses. Please sit down and rest, so I can get some help for you."
The stranger looked at him closely. "Humor me. Did it grow, whole?"
David rolled his eyes. "Of course not."
"Then tell me how it came to be."
"I needed a proper staff for my work, so I selected a young, strong sapling and cut it off, stripped the branches and shaped the head of it to form a crook."
"Now, if that tree had been capable of thought, do you think it would have ever have imagined something like that happening? Could it have looked ahead in its life as a tree and say, 'Ah, some day someone will need a staff and will chop me down and strip off all my branches so that I can serve their purpose'?"
The young man frowned again. "I suppose not."
"Why?"
"Because it would know no better than what it already was."
"Exactly. It was a tree -- it had always been a tree. Its father was a tree, and its father before it. It would be perfectly reasonable -- from the tree's point of view -- to believe that there could never be anything else. And now here you come along, with a higher purpose, and you change it to something other than what it believed its destiny was."
David smiled faintly, though his eyes were still a little puzzled. "So you're saying I'm a tree?"
The old man shrugged. "Who knows? But just as that tree was given the gift of being young and strong, you were given gifts, too, when you were born. You were given the gifts and the possibilities of being strong, protective, and faithful, and who knows what... and now you've grown into those gifts. This change -- it may be who you were really meant to be, all along."
David considered this and sighed. "But it seems so unfair. I'm happy being what I am."
"I understand -- it's all you've ever been. But the possibilities are so much greater, young man, and you have been chosen for so much more -- I believe you may find yourself even happier once you become what God wants you to be. Dying to yourself -- your old self -- is not about giving something up. It's about embracing something new."
David nodded and looked over his shoulder once again, scanning the flock. Satisfied, he turned back, and opened his mouth to say something... but the stranger was gone, just bent grass to show he had been there. Bent grass... and a new sense of destiny in the heart of a young shepherd.
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.
It Doesn't Take that Much
by Lamar Massingill
Mark 4:26-34
After Hurricane Katrina, as I was the pastor of a church in a suburb of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, that got an enormous part of damage from the storm, I told this story: "Look at our own church. The call went out last Monday to help victims of the storm, and you responded with a gesture of faith by going to buy some things that were needed and requested, brought them to the church, and left them here. You probably thought it wasn't much, but by Wednesday the press wanted pictures, and now one of the radio stations wants to broadcast from our church this Thursday, as we invite people to help by bringing more supplies. It was a small thing you did, a mustard seed type of thing, and now the entire city is interested. See, it doesn't take that much. You shopped, gave a little money, bought what you could, things we all do on a regular basis. Mustard seed faith. It is these acts of faith that transform people and make them into communities of faith."
A gesture, a word, a touch, all small things but have an impact next to nothing I've ever seen. As Jesus said in verses 31-32 of this chapter of Mark, it doesn't take that much. I have seen a word transform a person. I have seen a gesture of faith bless an entire church.
A man came by our parsonage a couple of years ago in need, after a rather serious health problem that was cared for at the hospital in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He was in diabetic shock when he arrived at our home. I've seen a couple of episodes of that, but my wife, Joyce, because of what she does every day at the hospital, has seen a legion of such episodes. The man was not from here. He didn't have a lot, but Joyce gave him some peanut butter and orange juice, and before our eyes, he slowly began to think straight and talk.
Peanut butter and orange juice! Not a lot, but it meant the world to someone who was in need of such nourishment. It doesn't take that much. She did what she could, what was within the limits of our own power, and what a reward it was. Most of these types of things we all do on a regular basis for our friends, so why not for the stranger among us who has legitimate needs? This is the intent and the substance of scriptural "mustard seed hospitality." Really, it is the anatomy of human hospitality, because all scripture is about us as much as it is God. It is exactly what Jesus meant when he said, "When you do it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you are doing it to me." Mustard seed faith. It is these acts of faith that transform people and make them into communities of faith. And Matthew says that if these acts of random kindness and love are made a regular part of our lives, then they will create something bigger, where everyone can receive the nurture and sense of belonging and care they need. Gestures, a word, a touch, all small things but have an impact next to nothing I've ever seen.
You may remember in To Kill a Mockingbird when a group of white men come at night and surround the jail where Tom, a black man wrongly accused of a crime, is held. The men are a mob, controlled by hatred and rage. They do not see Tom, they see a black man; an enemy. They are blinded by their rage. There is a little girl there whose name is Scout. As she watches them, her father tells her to run and go home. But Scout doesn't run, and she doesn't fight. Instead she finds the right word that becomes the mustard seed.
Scout looks at one of the men in the mob and says, "Hey Mr. Cunningham, don't you remember me? I go to school with Walter. He's your boy, ain't he? We brought him home for dinner one day. Tell your boy 'hey,' will you?" There was a long pause. Then the big man separated himself from the mob, squatted down and took Scout by both shoulders, and said, "I'll tell him you said 'hey,' little lady." The mob dispersed.
Scout whispered the words of grace. She gives a mustard seed of faith that opened the man's eyes, heart, and soul. Instead of black or white, suddenly it became a world of grace.
It doesn't take that much. Just a mustard seed. Just a small crack of concern in our hearts. Faith is about the love of God in Christ Jesus. Faith is knowing that brothers and sisters in need belong to Jesus as much as we do. Faith is doing your part and leaving the rest to God; about being so grasped by Jesus that you know in your heart and bones that your life and his life and the life of the world are held together like a giant spider web, and when you touch one part, the entire web starts to shake. It doesn't take that much. I invite you to give your mustard seed of faith, because it will accomplish something even bigger for our city, the place we call home!
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 17, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
"Crossroads" by Keith Hewitt
"It Doesn't Take that Much" by Lamar Massingill
* * * * * * * *
Crossroads
by Keith Hewitt
1 Samuel 15:34--16:13
The sun rose high but brought little heat to the hillside as the young man sat on a table-sized boulder with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His chin rested on his bare knees and the patchy, downy stubble at the point of it made them itch whenever he turned his head to watch the sheep that were spread around his little notch in the hills. He counted them subconsciously, noted where they were, and what they were doing... which was mostly just grazing on the grass that covered the hill like a wiry carpet.
Why? David wondered, eyes narrowing. Why me?
Life was good. It was not a life many would choose, he supposed, but it was the one he was born to -- and it gave him a sense of purpose: protect the sheep. Guide them, lead them to water and pasture, but above all else, protect them... against lions and bears, and the really treacherous creatures that prowled the wilderness on two legs. And for all the hardships the life presented, there were those moments of beauty and wonder -- the rising of the sun over the chiseled mountaintops or the ascent of the moon and all its attendants in the night sky; the smell of a campfire or the soul-embracing comfort of a bed of grass under an open sky.
This is who I am, he thought, frowning. Who I was born to be, and who I was meant to be.
"You seem troubled, my son."
Without a moment's thought, he was off the rock and on his feet, turning toward the voice, staff gripped in both hands, one end raised to strike. Only then did his eyes take in the speaker -- a tall, slender, man with gray hair, empty hands and a smile on his face. "I beg your pardon," the intruder said earnestly, without raising voice or hand. "I did not mean to scare you."
Sensing no threat, he lowered the staff, grounded one end, and leaned on it. "You didn't scare me -- I was just startled."
The old man smiled tolerantly. "My apologies for startling you, then. I was nearby, and I saw you -- and you looked troubled."
David shook his head slightly, one motion to either side. "I was thinking about something that happened yesterday. That's all."
The old man peered at him closely and then shook his own head. "Your affairs are your own -- but you look as if whatever happened is bothering you, or you would not have been so deep in thought.
"I suppose it is," David admitted, unsure as to why he was sharing so much with a stranger -- another stranger; the image of the old prophet, Samuel came to him briefly, faded away. "Tell me," he added after a moment, "what do you do?"
The old man smiled faintly. "Well, that's kind of hard to explain. I travel a lot."
"So you're a merchant?"
The old man shrugged. "More of a messenger, I would say. And I take it you're a shepherd. "
"I am. My father was a shepherd, and his father before him, and his father. I was born a shepherd, and I am a shepherd." He turned, glanced over his shoulder and swept his eyes over the hillside, counting, then turned back to the stranger. "And that is the problem. I'm being asked to become something else." He paused. "I'm being told to become something else."
"Really? Something you don't want to be?"
David shrugged. "How would I know? Being a shepherd isn't just what I do, it's who I am. I watch over them, I guide them, I make sure they're fed and watered, I help deliver lambs, when the time is right. And now I'm being told that I must leave this life and do something more, that I'm destined to a higher duty, and I don't understand it. Why me? I'm happy with what I am -- who I am."
The old man nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I see."
"And if I do this thing, I'm never going to be a shepherd again. So you see why I may be a little distracted."
"I do." The old man was silent for a moment or two, then spoke slowly, his eyebrows knit together above his nose as he spoke. "Your staff -- did you grow it?"
David frowned. "What?"
"That staff you were going to club me with -- did you grow it that way? Did you plant a seed, and up came a staff?"
"Old man, you've taken leave of your senses. Please sit down and rest, so I can get some help for you."
The stranger looked at him closely. "Humor me. Did it grow, whole?"
David rolled his eyes. "Of course not."
"Then tell me how it came to be."
"I needed a proper staff for my work, so I selected a young, strong sapling and cut it off, stripped the branches and shaped the head of it to form a crook."
"Now, if that tree had been capable of thought, do you think it would have ever have imagined something like that happening? Could it have looked ahead in its life as a tree and say, 'Ah, some day someone will need a staff and will chop me down and strip off all my branches so that I can serve their purpose'?"
The young man frowned again. "I suppose not."
"Why?"
"Because it would know no better than what it already was."
"Exactly. It was a tree -- it had always been a tree. Its father was a tree, and its father before it. It would be perfectly reasonable -- from the tree's point of view -- to believe that there could never be anything else. And now here you come along, with a higher purpose, and you change it to something other than what it believed its destiny was."
David smiled faintly, though his eyes were still a little puzzled. "So you're saying I'm a tree?"
The old man shrugged. "Who knows? But just as that tree was given the gift of being young and strong, you were given gifts, too, when you were born. You were given the gifts and the possibilities of being strong, protective, and faithful, and who knows what... and now you've grown into those gifts. This change -- it may be who you were really meant to be, all along."
David considered this and sighed. "But it seems so unfair. I'm happy being what I am."
"I understand -- it's all you've ever been. But the possibilities are so much greater, young man, and you have been chosen for so much more -- I believe you may find yourself even happier once you become what God wants you to be. Dying to yourself -- your old self -- is not about giving something up. It's about embracing something new."
David nodded and looked over his shoulder once again, scanning the flock. Satisfied, he turned back, and opened his mouth to say something... but the stranger was gone, just bent grass to show he had been there. Bent grass... and a new sense of destiny in the heart of a young shepherd.
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.
It Doesn't Take that Much
by Lamar Massingill
Mark 4:26-34
After Hurricane Katrina, as I was the pastor of a church in a suburb of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, that got an enormous part of damage from the storm, I told this story: "Look at our own church. The call went out last Monday to help victims of the storm, and you responded with a gesture of faith by going to buy some things that were needed and requested, brought them to the church, and left them here. You probably thought it wasn't much, but by Wednesday the press wanted pictures, and now one of the radio stations wants to broadcast from our church this Thursday, as we invite people to help by bringing more supplies. It was a small thing you did, a mustard seed type of thing, and now the entire city is interested. See, it doesn't take that much. You shopped, gave a little money, bought what you could, things we all do on a regular basis. Mustard seed faith. It is these acts of faith that transform people and make them into communities of faith."
A gesture, a word, a touch, all small things but have an impact next to nothing I've ever seen. As Jesus said in verses 31-32 of this chapter of Mark, it doesn't take that much. I have seen a word transform a person. I have seen a gesture of faith bless an entire church.
A man came by our parsonage a couple of years ago in need, after a rather serious health problem that was cared for at the hospital in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He was in diabetic shock when he arrived at our home. I've seen a couple of episodes of that, but my wife, Joyce, because of what she does every day at the hospital, has seen a legion of such episodes. The man was not from here. He didn't have a lot, but Joyce gave him some peanut butter and orange juice, and before our eyes, he slowly began to think straight and talk.
Peanut butter and orange juice! Not a lot, but it meant the world to someone who was in need of such nourishment. It doesn't take that much. She did what she could, what was within the limits of our own power, and what a reward it was. Most of these types of things we all do on a regular basis for our friends, so why not for the stranger among us who has legitimate needs? This is the intent and the substance of scriptural "mustard seed hospitality." Really, it is the anatomy of human hospitality, because all scripture is about us as much as it is God. It is exactly what Jesus meant when he said, "When you do it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you are doing it to me." Mustard seed faith. It is these acts of faith that transform people and make them into communities of faith. And Matthew says that if these acts of random kindness and love are made a regular part of our lives, then they will create something bigger, where everyone can receive the nurture and sense of belonging and care they need. Gestures, a word, a touch, all small things but have an impact next to nothing I've ever seen.
You may remember in To Kill a Mockingbird when a group of white men come at night and surround the jail where Tom, a black man wrongly accused of a crime, is held. The men are a mob, controlled by hatred and rage. They do not see Tom, they see a black man; an enemy. They are blinded by their rage. There is a little girl there whose name is Scout. As she watches them, her father tells her to run and go home. But Scout doesn't run, and she doesn't fight. Instead she finds the right word that becomes the mustard seed.
Scout looks at one of the men in the mob and says, "Hey Mr. Cunningham, don't you remember me? I go to school with Walter. He's your boy, ain't he? We brought him home for dinner one day. Tell your boy 'hey,' will you?" There was a long pause. Then the big man separated himself from the mob, squatted down and took Scout by both shoulders, and said, "I'll tell him you said 'hey,' little lady." The mob dispersed.
Scout whispered the words of grace. She gives a mustard seed of faith that opened the man's eyes, heart, and soul. Instead of black or white, suddenly it became a world of grace.
It doesn't take that much. Just a mustard seed. Just a small crack of concern in our hearts. Faith is about the love of God in Christ Jesus. Faith is knowing that brothers and sisters in need belong to Jesus as much as we do. Faith is doing your part and leaving the rest to God; about being so grasped by Jesus that you know in your heart and bones that your life and his life and the life of the world are held together like a giant spider web, and when you touch one part, the entire web starts to shake. It doesn't take that much. I invite you to give your mustard seed of faith, because it will accomplish something even bigger for our city, the place we call home!
The Rev. Lamar Massingill, a former Southern Baptist pastor, and also long time minister at the historic United Methodist Church in Port Gibson, Mississippi (1988-1999), is now Religion Editor for the Magnolia Gazette (magnoliagazette.com), for which he writes a weekly column. Massingill has traveled nationally and internationally and has lectured widely on the interaction between religion and psychology. He recently retired from the parish church after thirty years of pastoral ministry.
*****************************************
StoryShare, June 17, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 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.
