Gentlemen's Game
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Gentlemen's Game" by C. David McKirachan
"The Power of Story" by Larry Winebrenner
"The Insane Tenants" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * * *
Gentlemen's Game
by C. David McKirachan
Exodus 20
In my freshman year of college I signed up for the Rugby team. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd always enjoyed playing in the dirt. No lack of that when you run around with a football, with no one to block, with 15 large beasts chasing you. When you get tackled, it's a loose ball and it starts all over again. No pads, no time outs, and no substitutions. I woke up the morning after the first practice feeling like I'd spent the afternoon under a medium sized herd of water buffalo. Plenty of dirt.
As the season progressed I learned there was more to the game than pain and mud and grunting and overlapping bruises. There were strategies and there were actually rules, rules about scoring goals, rules about fouls, rules about how and how not to pass the ball. One of the most interesting rules was that there was to be no shouting on the field. You see rugby is a gentlemen's game. My first reaction was incredulity. But then it began to sink in. In the midst of all the brutal contact and struggle, the players must never forget that they are there to play a game and not to become animals. They are to maintain their identities as decent and proper gentlemen.
The Children of Israel were a motley crew. They traced their lineage from refugees who'd come to Egypt running from hunger. They had descended from that fragile status to slaves, whose only talent seemed to be reproducing. Now they had a lunatic leader who talked with God and fomented revolution, leading the now escaped slaves into the desert riding on the coattails of natural disasters. They were ready for very little, terrified of everything, even of this God the lunatic conversed with. And now they had a set of rules to follow, rules that were weird at best. 'Everybody gets a day off?' You've got to be kidding.
On a practical basis, on the surface, according the rules accepted by any empire or tribe around, they were doomed. It's a vicious world. But that's the interesting part, they weren't. You see, they had an identity based on a promise, a commitment from this God. Somehow it did prove them. It defined them. It created of them something more than any of the evidence showed.
Now far be it from me to compare Rugby players with the chosen people. That is a fantasy that even the muddy beasts would find ludicrous. But in the struggle and the dirt it is vital that we hold fast to our identity. That's what the law is for -- so that we can remember who we are, even when we're being chased down by a herd of water buffalo.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
The Power of Story
Larry Winebrenner
Matthew 21:33-46
Gertrude stuck out her lower lip.
"I'm a teenager," she declared to Grandpa. "I'm too old for your stupid stories."
"But not too old for those stupid stories on TV, eh Gertie?" mildly observed Grandpa.
"Gertie! Grandpa, how many times --"
"Calm down, Gertrude," said Grandpa. "I keep forgetting. It's hard to break a habit of fifteen years. Let's don't let this matter interrupt our discussion."
"I don't want to discuss. My program is coming on. I'm not interested in any stupid stories," announced Gertrude.
"Your program? The ongoing story of mistrust, unfaithfulness, selfishness, and broken hearts?" asked Grandpa.
"But they're true to life!"
"And Bible stories are not?"
"Not to my life," insisted Gertrude.
"Let me ask you a couple of questions and then I won't interrupt your TV watching anymore. Not even when merchants tell you their stories about how much you need their products."
Gertrude poked out her lower lip again but gave the impression she would listen.
"Have you ever had a time when someone more powerful than you took advantage of you?" asked Grandpa.
"Yeah. Like right now," complained Gertrude.
Grandpa got slowly up from his easy chair and started for Gertrude's room. He stayed there on his visits. She slept on the couch.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," pleaded Gertrude. "Please don't be mad."
He turned around and said, "I'm not mad. I just realized I've been taking advantage of you -- your bed, your time, I imagine you don't even invite friends over when I'm here."
Gertrude jumped up and ran to Grandpa. She put her arms around him.
"I didn't mean it that way," she murmured. "Please tell me what you were going to say. Come on back and sit down."
"Only if you let me sleep on the couch tonight."
She didn't answer. She just led him back to his easy chair. He'd doze off as soon as her program started. As soon as she started watching. It had already started.
"Yes," she answered his question. "Kids who are popular always pick on less popular ones. Get the best seats in the cafeteria. That kind of thing."
"I was going to make a point about the power of a story," said Grandpa. "The greatest king in the Bible was David. His story would fit right into your TV programs. He saw a woman --"
"Bathsheba. She was bathing. He got her pregnant while her husband was at the war. So David killed him so he could marry his wife," Gertrude rattled off like a sports announcer calling off plays of a football game.
"You know your Bible," laughed Grandpa. "At least the juicy parts. Then what?"
"The baby died. But Bathsheba had Solomon. He became the next king," said Gertrude.
"Who called David to account for his evil behavior?" Grandpa wanted to know.
"No one," said Gertrude, her TV program forgotten for the moment.
"Nathan, the prophet, did with a story," said Grandpa. "The power of the story to call upon the mightiest man in the land for justice."
"Yeah," challenged Gertrude. "But that's Old Testament stuff. Wars. Adultery. All that. But Jesus never called down the power structure. Even when they asked him about taxes he wimped out. 'Render unto Caesar' and all that stuff."
"How about the parable of the wicked tenants?" inquired Grandpa.
"You mean the story about the sharecroppers? The rich dude that exploited the workers' labor and then wanted all the profit?"
"That's not the way I read it," leveled her grandfather. "He may have been sharecropping. I never read it that way. Maybe you're right. But does that give the people renting the vineyard or olive grove or whatever it was the right to beat up the accountants he sent to collect the rent?"
"Goons," spit out Gertrude. "Goons to enforce the exploitation."
"Let's say they were 'goons' as you put it. Is it right to kill them. Or to kill the son when he came to get the owner's share?"
"What's your point about the story?" asked Gertrude feeling herself cornered.
"You said Jesus never confronted the power base. Well, this story did," pointed out Grandpa.
"Huh! It's just a story," uttered Gertrude.
"That's my point. Stories have power. This story set in motion the conspiracy to murder Jesus," Grandpa told her.
"Says you."
Grandpa picked up his Bible and read, "The chief priests and the Pharisees heard Jesus' stories. They knew he was talking about them. So they looked for a way to arrest him." He laid the Bible down.
"Says the Bible," he explained.
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
The Insane Tenants
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 21:33-46; Psalm 19
"Mama, I saw Jesus again today."
"Enoch, how many times must I tell you to stay away from that man? He's stirring up rebellion. If you're there when people get agitated, you could be hurt!"
"But Mama, he tells great stories!"
"I'm sure he does... stories of the Son of God coming to earth to save us all." Naomi went on kneading the bread.
Nathan piped up from his work of stoking the fire. "He really is seditious."
Enoch scowled at his brother, who was four years older than Enoch. Nathan was always using big words since he started studying with the rabbi. "What's a seditious?"
Nathan opened his mouth just as their mother started speaking. He clamped his mouth shut, waiting to see how his mother would handle this question. Women were forbidden to learn to read or write. What could she possibly have to say about sedition?
"Sedition means the overthrow of those who have authority over you. It goes against God's Law. And your brother is right. Jesus preaches the overthrow of the Temple and its priests. He goes up against the Pharisees and the teachers of the Law. He seems to think he knows it all. He says he's the Son of God."
Nathan sniggered at his mother's words until her eyes swept over him. But Enoch still looked serious. "He tells stories about our lives. Today he told a story about people who were share-croppers in a vineyard. They were crazy! When it came time to pay the rent, the rich owner sent first one servant, and then another and still another. The tenants beat up the first one, killed the second, and stoned the third!" Enoch was on his feet, acting out the swords and stoning. "So then, the son of the rich man came to find out what had happened and collect the rent. The tenants all got together and killed the son so they could own the vineyard, rather than just working in it."
"Well, Enoch, is that very smart?"
"No, that's what I mean, Mama -- those tenants were crazy! All that violence and the tenants won't own the vineyard. They'll be whipped and thrown into the dungeon!" Enoch's mouth made a big "O" as he said this.
"Sounds to me like the owner of the vineyard wasn't too bright, either," said Nathan.
Mama made a shushing sound. "What makes you say that, foolish boy?"
"Well, if I had sent my servant to collect the rents, and he didn't come back home, I wouldn't send the next one unarmed, that's for sure. And if I had sent a second who never came home, I'd hire me a couple of guards before I set out to get my rent. But this guy just sent out one servant at a time, and then his son -- even his son isn't too bright. If Papa told me to go, I'd have to go, but I'd make sure I didn't go without a weapon or a soldier." Nathan put the axe back into the woodpile. "You don't just go on missing servants and then go to investigate the situation by yourself."
Mama smiled. "So you know to always take a bodyguard when you collect the rents. Does our landlord do that?"
Enoch said, "No, Mama, but then he hasn't had anybody killing his servants, either!"
Nathan offered. "He's preaching against the Temple authorities, like Mama said. He said it right in front of the Pharisees and everybody coming to the ritual baths. You could tell that the Pharisees were really mad at him, they were all muttering to each other."
"Oh, merciful God! Protect us from this crazy rabbi! What was Jesus saying this time?"
"Well, you know how John baptizes near the Siloam Pool and says that this releases the people's sins so they don't have to pay for their baptism?" Mama nodded. "Well, Jesus says that the Temple authorities always kill the prophets because the prophets don't care who they're talking to, they just say what God tells them to say. I think he pretty much says that the Temple authorities are stealing the kingdom of heaven and charging us to get in."
Enoch's mouth was hanging open and Mama's eyes were narrow when Nathan finished what he had to say. Nathan looked from one to the other.
"Well, that's interesting!" said Mama. "It is sedition and against the priests and Sadducees. The man is going to get himself killed."
Enoch nodded as though he understood any of what was going on. All he remembered from all that stuff from Nathan was the part about charging to get in. "But Nathan... we do have to pay to get in: temple tax, bath charges, money for the sacrifices. He's only telling the truth."
Mama hissed. "Enoch! Enough already! This man is going to get himself killed, and his disciples with him. You stay away from him and those crowds that follow him. Passover is coming and the Romans have two full legions on patrol in our country. The least bit of trouble and we'll be seeing crosses lining the roads from here to Damascus."
"Yeah," echoed Nathan in that 'I'm-the-older-brother' voice he put on so often since he had started studying with the rabbi. "The Romans don't care who they arrest, Enoch. Stay away from the crowds around the Temple."
"Or wherever this Jesus is preaching," added Mama.
"He's preaching in the Temple, Mama, or by the pools."
"Oh, blessed by the Name!" said Mama, looking upward. "Stay away from it all, Enoch. There's too much violence around the holy days, no matter what happens to Jesus." She sighed, and then said, "I need more water. Enoch, take this pail and get some." Privately, she swore she would keep him busy enough to keep him safe. There was certainly enough work to do to prepare for the Feast of Unleavened Bread.
Three days later, Enoch came flying in the door. He was flushed and out of breath, his eyes huge, and his hair in his face.
"Mama! Mama! Guess what's happened!"
"A goat grew an extra horn?" she laughed. Today was a day of rest after the Seder supper, and she and Papa and Nathan were lounging on the bench in front of their home.
"No, Mama. Something awful," Enoch gasped. "Jesus was arrested."
Everyone was silent. Then Nathan said, "You see? He was trying to make the people rebel and this is what happens. He'll be crucified."
But Papa was very quiet. Mama was looking at Papa, shaking her head. No one told Nathan he was wrong.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 2, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
"Gentlemen's Game" by C. David McKirachan
"The Power of Story" by Larry Winebrenner
"The Insane Tenants" by Sandra Herrmann
* * * * * * * *
Gentlemen's Game
by C. David McKirachan
Exodus 20
In my freshman year of college I signed up for the Rugby team. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd always enjoyed playing in the dirt. No lack of that when you run around with a football, with no one to block, with 15 large beasts chasing you. When you get tackled, it's a loose ball and it starts all over again. No pads, no time outs, and no substitutions. I woke up the morning after the first practice feeling like I'd spent the afternoon under a medium sized herd of water buffalo. Plenty of dirt.
As the season progressed I learned there was more to the game than pain and mud and grunting and overlapping bruises. There were strategies and there were actually rules, rules about scoring goals, rules about fouls, rules about how and how not to pass the ball. One of the most interesting rules was that there was to be no shouting on the field. You see rugby is a gentlemen's game. My first reaction was incredulity. But then it began to sink in. In the midst of all the brutal contact and struggle, the players must never forget that they are there to play a game and not to become animals. They are to maintain their identities as decent and proper gentlemen.
The Children of Israel were a motley crew. They traced their lineage from refugees who'd come to Egypt running from hunger. They had descended from that fragile status to slaves, whose only talent seemed to be reproducing. Now they had a lunatic leader who talked with God and fomented revolution, leading the now escaped slaves into the desert riding on the coattails of natural disasters. They were ready for very little, terrified of everything, even of this God the lunatic conversed with. And now they had a set of rules to follow, rules that were weird at best. 'Everybody gets a day off?' You've got to be kidding.
On a practical basis, on the surface, according the rules accepted by any empire or tribe around, they were doomed. It's a vicious world. But that's the interesting part, they weren't. You see, they had an identity based on a promise, a commitment from this God. Somehow it did prove them. It defined them. It created of them something more than any of the evidence showed.
Now far be it from me to compare Rugby players with the chosen people. That is a fantasy that even the muddy beasts would find ludicrous. But in the struggle and the dirt it is vital that we hold fast to our identity. That's what the law is for -- so that we can remember who we are, even when we're being chased down by a herd of water buffalo.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
The Power of Story
Larry Winebrenner
Matthew 21:33-46
Gertrude stuck out her lower lip.
"I'm a teenager," she declared to Grandpa. "I'm too old for your stupid stories."
"But not too old for those stupid stories on TV, eh Gertie?" mildly observed Grandpa.
"Gertie! Grandpa, how many times --"
"Calm down, Gertrude," said Grandpa. "I keep forgetting. It's hard to break a habit of fifteen years. Let's don't let this matter interrupt our discussion."
"I don't want to discuss. My program is coming on. I'm not interested in any stupid stories," announced Gertrude.
"Your program? The ongoing story of mistrust, unfaithfulness, selfishness, and broken hearts?" asked Grandpa.
"But they're true to life!"
"And Bible stories are not?"
"Not to my life," insisted Gertrude.
"Let me ask you a couple of questions and then I won't interrupt your TV watching anymore. Not even when merchants tell you their stories about how much you need their products."
Gertrude poked out her lower lip again but gave the impression she would listen.
"Have you ever had a time when someone more powerful than you took advantage of you?" asked Grandpa.
"Yeah. Like right now," complained Gertrude.
Grandpa got slowly up from his easy chair and started for Gertrude's room. He stayed there on his visits. She slept on the couch.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," pleaded Gertrude. "Please don't be mad."
He turned around and said, "I'm not mad. I just realized I've been taking advantage of you -- your bed, your time, I imagine you don't even invite friends over when I'm here."
Gertrude jumped up and ran to Grandpa. She put her arms around him.
"I didn't mean it that way," she murmured. "Please tell me what you were going to say. Come on back and sit down."
"Only if you let me sleep on the couch tonight."
She didn't answer. She just led him back to his easy chair. He'd doze off as soon as her program started. As soon as she started watching. It had already started.
"Yes," she answered his question. "Kids who are popular always pick on less popular ones. Get the best seats in the cafeteria. That kind of thing."
"I was going to make a point about the power of a story," said Grandpa. "The greatest king in the Bible was David. His story would fit right into your TV programs. He saw a woman --"
"Bathsheba. She was bathing. He got her pregnant while her husband was at the war. So David killed him so he could marry his wife," Gertrude rattled off like a sports announcer calling off plays of a football game.
"You know your Bible," laughed Grandpa. "At least the juicy parts. Then what?"
"The baby died. But Bathsheba had Solomon. He became the next king," said Gertrude.
"Who called David to account for his evil behavior?" Grandpa wanted to know.
"No one," said Gertrude, her TV program forgotten for the moment.
"Nathan, the prophet, did with a story," said Grandpa. "The power of the story to call upon the mightiest man in the land for justice."
"Yeah," challenged Gertrude. "But that's Old Testament stuff. Wars. Adultery. All that. But Jesus never called down the power structure. Even when they asked him about taxes he wimped out. 'Render unto Caesar' and all that stuff."
"How about the parable of the wicked tenants?" inquired Grandpa.
"You mean the story about the sharecroppers? The rich dude that exploited the workers' labor and then wanted all the profit?"
"That's not the way I read it," leveled her grandfather. "He may have been sharecropping. I never read it that way. Maybe you're right. But does that give the people renting the vineyard or olive grove or whatever it was the right to beat up the accountants he sent to collect the rent?"
"Goons," spit out Gertrude. "Goons to enforce the exploitation."
"Let's say they were 'goons' as you put it. Is it right to kill them. Or to kill the son when he came to get the owner's share?"
"What's your point about the story?" asked Gertrude feeling herself cornered.
"You said Jesus never confronted the power base. Well, this story did," pointed out Grandpa.
"Huh! It's just a story," uttered Gertrude.
"That's my point. Stories have power. This story set in motion the conspiracy to murder Jesus," Grandpa told her.
"Says you."
Grandpa picked up his Bible and read, "The chief priests and the Pharisees heard Jesus' stories. They knew he was talking about them. So they looked for a way to arrest him." He laid the Bible down.
"Says the Bible," he explained.
Larry Winebrenner is now retired and living in Miami Gardens, Florida. He taught for 33 years at Miami-Dade Community College, and served as pastor of churches in Georgia, Florida, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Larry is currently active at First United Methodist Church in downtown Miami, where he leads discussion in an adult fellowship group on Sunday mornings and preaches occasionally. He has authored two college textbooks, written four novels, served as an editor for three newspapers and an academic journal, and contributed articles to several magazines.
The Insane Tenants
by Sandra Herrmann
Matthew 21:33-46; Psalm 19
"Mama, I saw Jesus again today."
"Enoch, how many times must I tell you to stay away from that man? He's stirring up rebellion. If you're there when people get agitated, you could be hurt!"
"But Mama, he tells great stories!"
"I'm sure he does... stories of the Son of God coming to earth to save us all." Naomi went on kneading the bread.
Nathan piped up from his work of stoking the fire. "He really is seditious."
Enoch scowled at his brother, who was four years older than Enoch. Nathan was always using big words since he started studying with the rabbi. "What's a seditious?"
Nathan opened his mouth just as their mother started speaking. He clamped his mouth shut, waiting to see how his mother would handle this question. Women were forbidden to learn to read or write. What could she possibly have to say about sedition?
"Sedition means the overthrow of those who have authority over you. It goes against God's Law. And your brother is right. Jesus preaches the overthrow of the Temple and its priests. He goes up against the Pharisees and the teachers of the Law. He seems to think he knows it all. He says he's the Son of God."
Nathan sniggered at his mother's words until her eyes swept over him. But Enoch still looked serious. "He tells stories about our lives. Today he told a story about people who were share-croppers in a vineyard. They were crazy! When it came time to pay the rent, the rich owner sent first one servant, and then another and still another. The tenants beat up the first one, killed the second, and stoned the third!" Enoch was on his feet, acting out the swords and stoning. "So then, the son of the rich man came to find out what had happened and collect the rent. The tenants all got together and killed the son so they could own the vineyard, rather than just working in it."
"Well, Enoch, is that very smart?"
"No, that's what I mean, Mama -- those tenants were crazy! All that violence and the tenants won't own the vineyard. They'll be whipped and thrown into the dungeon!" Enoch's mouth made a big "O" as he said this.
"Sounds to me like the owner of the vineyard wasn't too bright, either," said Nathan.
Mama made a shushing sound. "What makes you say that, foolish boy?"
"Well, if I had sent my servant to collect the rents, and he didn't come back home, I wouldn't send the next one unarmed, that's for sure. And if I had sent a second who never came home, I'd hire me a couple of guards before I set out to get my rent. But this guy just sent out one servant at a time, and then his son -- even his son isn't too bright. If Papa told me to go, I'd have to go, but I'd make sure I didn't go without a weapon or a soldier." Nathan put the axe back into the woodpile. "You don't just go on missing servants and then go to investigate the situation by yourself."
Mama smiled. "So you know to always take a bodyguard when you collect the rents. Does our landlord do that?"
Enoch said, "No, Mama, but then he hasn't had anybody killing his servants, either!"
Nathan offered. "He's preaching against the Temple authorities, like Mama said. He said it right in front of the Pharisees and everybody coming to the ritual baths. You could tell that the Pharisees were really mad at him, they were all muttering to each other."
"Oh, merciful God! Protect us from this crazy rabbi! What was Jesus saying this time?"
"Well, you know how John baptizes near the Siloam Pool and says that this releases the people's sins so they don't have to pay for their baptism?" Mama nodded. "Well, Jesus says that the Temple authorities always kill the prophets because the prophets don't care who they're talking to, they just say what God tells them to say. I think he pretty much says that the Temple authorities are stealing the kingdom of heaven and charging us to get in."
Enoch's mouth was hanging open and Mama's eyes were narrow when Nathan finished what he had to say. Nathan looked from one to the other.
"Well, that's interesting!" said Mama. "It is sedition and against the priests and Sadducees. The man is going to get himself killed."
Enoch nodded as though he understood any of what was going on. All he remembered from all that stuff from Nathan was the part about charging to get in. "But Nathan... we do have to pay to get in: temple tax, bath charges, money for the sacrifices. He's only telling the truth."
Mama hissed. "Enoch! Enough already! This man is going to get himself killed, and his disciples with him. You stay away from him and those crowds that follow him. Passover is coming and the Romans have two full legions on patrol in our country. The least bit of trouble and we'll be seeing crosses lining the roads from here to Damascus."
"Yeah," echoed Nathan in that 'I'm-the-older-brother' voice he put on so often since he had started studying with the rabbi. "The Romans don't care who they arrest, Enoch. Stay away from the crowds around the Temple."
"Or wherever this Jesus is preaching," added Mama.
"He's preaching in the Temple, Mama, or by the pools."
"Oh, blessed by the Name!" said Mama, looking upward. "Stay away from it all, Enoch. There's too much violence around the holy days, no matter what happens to Jesus." She sighed, and then said, "I need more water. Enoch, take this pail and get some." Privately, she swore she would keep him busy enough to keep him safe. There was certainly enough work to do to prepare for the Feast of Unleavened Bread.
Three days later, Enoch came flying in the door. He was flushed and out of breath, his eyes huge, and his hair in his face.
"Mama! Mama! Guess what's happened!"
"A goat grew an extra horn?" she laughed. Today was a day of rest after the Seder supper, and she and Papa and Nathan were lounging on the bench in front of their home.
"No, Mama. Something awful," Enoch gasped. "Jesus was arrested."
Everyone was silent. Then Nathan said, "You see? He was trying to make the people rebel and this is what happens. He'll be crucified."
But Papa was very quiet. Mama was looking at Papa, shaking her head. No one told Nathan he was wrong.
Sandra Herrmann is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
*****************************************
StoryShare, October 2, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 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.
