Gloriously Stormy Worship
Stories
Contents
“Gloriously Stormy Worship” by David O. Bales
“The Perfect Candidate” by David O. Bales
“Understanding” by Keith Hewitt
Gloriously Stormy Worship
by David O. Bales
Psalm 29
“No one could remember such a windstorm,” Abuyah said. “Two days. Occasionally a shower of rain, but mostly just gust after gust like the weather was playing a game and each blast fighting the last. Anyone who dared step outside to traverse a Jerusalem street found themselves leaning. Little children were blown over. I was just a boy, but my father had taken me along to help the other priests.” Abuyah rested on his ragged cushion and gazed at the old men he’d invited to his home for this early evening meal. It was the thirtieth anniversary of the Jerusalem temple’s destruction by the Babylonians. The guests resembled the land they lived in. Jerusalem and Judah were in ruins and the Babylonians left few people living in the area. This remnant of Judah’s population was at wits end trying to survive, let alone to figure out what their nation’s destruction might mean for their religion’s future.
“The priests and Levites heard the storm all night,” Abuyah continued, “Hoped it would abate; but, this morning they faced even worse weather than yesterday. The cold was one thing, froze your dripping nose red; but, the hardest was to keep the fires burning under the sacrifices. Made you wish the temple court had a roof.
“You’d think those bedraggled priests would push along the sacrifices as quickly as possible and get out of the tempest. Pray their prayers, let the Levites chant their quickened praise. Maybe tomorrow’s worship would feel more meaningful. But right there the most awesome thing happened.”
His elderly friends, dour and hopeless, perked up whenever anyone talked about the temple. Most of them had seen it before it was destroyed. His telling them was like their being able to experience with him the heartbeat of Judah which had stopped when worship on Jerusalem’s temple mount halted.
“This tottery priest with his robe flopping in the wind, was suddenly in ecstasy. He’d always been strange, bug-eyed and bandy-legged, but he was born a priest and that’s what he did, stumbling around, talking to himself, fiddling with this or that, getting in everyone’s way. This morning everyone else is dashing around, hand over an ear to stop the wind’s stabbing pain, and he’s got his arms up in the air, face to the sky, blabbering: ‘Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength. Ascribe to the LORD the glory of his name; worship the LORD in holy splendor.’ He’s talking to the angels, like he knows they’re mixed up in this storm and they’re delighted with it.
“The rest of the priests are doing their best to complete their tasks. He turns to them and shouts with a rumbling sound we’d never heard from him, ‘The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the LORD, over mighty waters,’ like at that moment he actually sees through all this uproar and perceives the LORD above heaven’s ocean.
“The LORD’s servants are squinting against the wind and here he is: eyes wide and glazed over, facing into the force of it, dancing with glee. Lightning smashes the north side of the temple. Thunder lifts us off our feet and he yells, ‘The voice of the LORD is powerful; the voice of the LORD is full of majesty. The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars; the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.’”
Abuyah talked louder and faster, tipping his head up and turning his eyes above his guests. “The rest of those holy servants in the LORD’s court finally drop their duties. Everyone moves towards him, like he’s at the bottom of a funnel that’s dripping the LORD’s message upon them. He turns and points to the north, ‘The LORD makes Lebanon skip like a calf, and Sirion like a young wild ox.’ Another lighting slams its thunder on us and he shouts, ‘The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.’ He points south, ‘The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness; the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.’
“Everyone’s drawn into heaven’s activity swirling around the old man. The LORD’s presence permeates the court of the priests. The old priest shouts like an announcement, ‘The voice of the LORD causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare.’
“The other priests and Levites are gasping, some laughing, some crying, some doing both. By that time I’ve gotten behind my father. Then, like the voice of a lion the old man roars, ‘Glory!’ Everyone flinches, and the old guy shrieks again ‘Glory!’ shaking us all. Then he shouts again and again with every breath, ‘Glory, Glory, Glory!’ and soon everyone is shouting with him, such glory as you’d think could join with the wind to topple the temple. On and on for an hour.
“Then as abruptly, he stops. Stops. So do all the others, though each eye is upon him and everyone’s trying to catch his breath to see what might come next. At that moment, the winds cease, like they were a taut rope cut with a sword’s one sweep. Everyone’s wobbly, stunned and weeping.
“He turns to his fellow servants and states simply, like giving a report, ‘The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.’ Then that old man, seemingly back to his right mind, spreads his arms to us, as at every priestly blessing, and states, ‘May the LORD give strength to his people! May the LORD bless his people with peace!’ and he walks away as though he doesn’t even remember what had just transpired.”
Abuyah takes a deep breath and speaks quietly to his gathered friends, “I thought that as we recall the day of the temple’s ruin, we should hold to this memory of our LORD’s glory.” Then he says, “Glory.” After a pause he speaks louder, “Glory.” Then he bellows to the group, “Glory!” at which all the old men struggle to their feet as quickly as they can. Jumping and throwing their arms to heaven, they leap around shouting together, “Glory! Glory! Glory!” until the sun sets and these remnants of the LORD’s defeated nation of Judah finally fall over in exhaustion.
Preaching point: Remembering the LORD’s glory even in the worst circumstances
* * *
The Perfect Candidate
by David O. Bales
Isaiah 42:1-9
“I don’t see why we have to hurry,” Shirley said.
“Because,” Wendy said, “Greenwald’s doing a flyby. He’s an important agent and he’s only agreed to consider you as a favor. He’s giving us a few minutes. He says it’s best if right now no one connects him with your campaign. So when we get inside, don’t get stopped by a conversation. No eye-contact. Just right through to a back table.”
As soon as they entered Denny’s Restaurant, Wendy asked to be seated at a back table and told the greeter they had another guest arriving. Shirley did as she was told and followed with her head down as though inspecting the floor. “Don’t see why this has to be so hush-hush,” she said after they’d been seated.
“It’s a major sneak,” Wendy said. “As far as the party’s concerned, you’re going to be the candidate from nowhere, and….” She looked across the dining room to the entrance and jumped up. “It’s Greenwald,” she said. He spotted her wave and buttoned his blazer as he walked to their booth. Shirley figured he was about 55: both his age and his pounds overweight. She stood as Wendy said, “Shirley, this is Greenwald, who might agree to work as your campaign manager.”
“Hi, hi, hi,” he said as he shook her hand and squeezed into the booth across from the two smiling women. “Really glad to meet you, Shirley. Wendy’s filled me in on a lot. Decided for sure, then, the state’s sixth representative district?”
Shirley nodded.
“Wendy says you’re a natural and sounds like she’s the right chairperson,” he smiled at Wendy. He spread his hands toward Shirley, “so tell me, how do you see it?” He looked at Shirley and Wendy was about to answer when the waitress came for their order.
“Back to business,” he said as he looked at his watch. “Got to dash up state and be at the capital for the 1:30 debate in the senate. Sure you don’t want to run for the senate? I’ve led four successful campaigns for state senators.”
Wendy said, “I agree. Shirley’s everything a senator can be.”
Shirley said quietly, “Representative.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Then, let’s hear what we’ve got to work with.”
“I’ve made notes,” Wendy put in. “First, Shirley’s absolutely clean. Unimpeachable reputation. One husband, two kids, no dirt.”
Shirley leaned back and raised her eyelids, “Good start?”
Greenwald and Wendy laughed. “Just kidding,” Wendy said. “But look what our committee — in secret by the way — has planned. Before Platter knows what hit him, we’ll have advertisements plastered around town and buzzing on the radio. Beginning May 1. Testimonials all the way from her first grade teacher to her father-in-law. Platter’s reelection folk with be at ‘ready’ and we’ll be at ‘go.’ When they hear about her, people who haven’t voted for decades will be lining up at the court house to register. Our citizens will know instantly she’s a family and consumer science teacher — ”
Greenwald cut her off, “What? Never heard of it.”
“Home economics,” Shirley said smiling.
Wendy went on, “and a marathoner. She’ll leave the opposition in her draft as she speeds by. We’ve even come up with a jingle for her campaign.”
“Let’s hear it,” Greenwald said.
“It’s a secret,” Wendy said, pursed her lips and shook her head.
Greenwald smiled at the amateur approach to campaigning. “All right,” he said. “So you’re going to catch the Platter people flat-footed. They’ll only see your backside as you advance in the distance. Go on.”
Wendy chuckled and continued. “All Platter does is tell our citizens they need to give less and receive more. Anybody who disagrees with him he turns into a boogeyman and pins a nasty name on them, and — .”
“I know all that,” Greenwald said. He turned again to Shirley who was listening to Wendy and tracing her finger in the ring of water on the table from her glass of Diet Pepsi. The two women had been friends since they started as rookie high school teachers 15 years ago. Shirley trusted Wendy’s estimation of what she could accomplish by serving under the state’s great seal in the house of representatives. She took a couple breaths as Wendy and Greenwald waited for her. She cleared her throat, then, “Primarily, I plan not to say anything against the personality of my opponent. No name-calling. Just the issues. I don’t put others down. I can take people disagreeing with me and not get angry. I’ve been doing it with students for 15 years.”
Greenwald squinted and tipped his head to the side.
“I want to break the pattern of campaigns in this state … and the pattern of governing. I’ll go as far as agreeing with Wendy when she’s interviewed as campaign chairperson. She’s set to talk about restoring demo-crazy with democracy. I won’t say that, but I’ll agree with her.”
“Pretty good, huh?” Wendy said and enjoyed stifling a chuckle.
Greenwald extended his hand to Shirley to continue.
“I plan to restore civility to politics. I’ll treat others in the state house as I have always treated my students.”
“We’ve got a bunch of her old students ready to give testimonials,” Wendy said.
Greenwald grimaced and motioned to Shirley to continue
“I will emphasize that democracy is for everyone and not just struggling to get favors for our family and friends. This is the way our democracy was meant to operate: society working together, protecting the weak and enhancing life for all.”
As the women’s lunch was arriving, Greenwald glanced at his watch again.
Wendy rushed to say, “Shirley will be a shining light, an example, a model for others. She’ll bring a new spirit to government. She was born for this.”
“I’ve got to hit the road,” Greenwald said as he shifted out of the booth. “Shirley,” he said, extending his hand for a shake, “really glad to meet you. And Wendy, I assume I’m to communicate with you if I agree to come aboard on this campaign?”
He made it out of the booth and stood. Wendy also stood and hustled behind him. “Right back,” she said to Shirley. She caught up with Greenwald in the parking lot as he unlocked his maroon Mercedes. “What do you think?” she asked with a broad smile. “You can see: no long winded speeches.”
He spoke fast, “Seems you think those boys upstate don’t have any more quarters to plunk in the political machine.”
“I know it won’t be easy,” Wendy said, smiling again. “But what do you think about Shirley as a candidate?”
He swung onto the seat with a thump and continued to speak quickly, “I don’t think she’s got a chance in this world.” He closed the door and lowered the window. “But, tomorrow I’ll send you an email with a contract for my fees and services.”
Preaching point: God’s kind of ruler has no earthly chance to succeed.
* * *
Understanding
by Keith Hewitt
The sun was fading, but not gone — sinking near the horizon, but not yet touching the summit of the hills. A small fire snapped and crackled inside a ring of rocks, its smoke carrying the scent of broiling fish toward heaven; Jesus’ eyes followed the smoke skyward, remained fixed on nothing in particular. He sat like that, sitting cross leggged in the dirt, until a voice said, “It’s almost like you didn’t know.”
Jesus snorted gently and shook his head, still staring skyward. “I didn’t. How could I?” He paused, added softly, “I’m not sure I believe it now.”
“How could you not know?” the voice asked reasonably.
Jesus took his eyes off the darkening sky. “What do you mean?”
“Seriously? Haven’t you been paying attention for the last thirty years? Don’t you listen to the stories told around the family dinner table?”
Jesus looked down at his feet, dusty from days of travel from Galilee to Jordan. “Of course I have — of course I listen,” he said quietly.
“Then maybe you just didn’t believe?”
Jesus shrugged, looked back up at the sky, now turning a deep violet. “Of course I believed — I just, you know…assumed there was some exaggeration taking place. You know how families do; you know how parents are. As grandfather has said more than once, stories improve in the retelling, and sometimes they improve so much that it’s hard to tell what really happened.”
“Grandfather said a lot of things. That’s what grandfathers do.”
“No doubt.”
Jesus squinted a little — was that a star up there? The first star of the evening? “So the stories about the scholars from Babylon — the gold, the frankincense, the myrrh, the journey to Egypt. Those are all true?”
He could almost hear a shrug. “You tell me. You remember the long journey to Nazareth. You remember what was said. And those gifts — they would have made it all possible, wouldn’t they?”
“Father said that more than once,” Jesus agreed. Joseph had been a tradesman, earning enough to support the family, but not enough to pay for them to emigrate to a foreign land…and then return. Those were not the kinds of things most families could do, without help — or unless they were desperate beyond reason.
“And the dreams — the ones Father never mentioned, but Mother would tell you about later. Those were not the sort of thing that happen to most people — believe me, I know.”
Jesus lowered his eyes, looked away. As long as he could remember, he’d had special dreams as well — and in the years since his father died, it almost seemed as though the dreams had been passed on to him. They were vivid, and confusing — and troubling. And yet each one, slowly, seemed to be pushing him in a particular way, toward a particular journey…a particular end.
Some nights he woke up in a cold sweat, on the ragged edge of panic, unable to remember what he’d been dreaming about but knowing it had taken him there. Those were the nights that ended in fervent prayers that brought on the dawn. Sometimes he remembered — and sometimes he didn’t quite remember, until he found himself doing what he’d been urged to do in a dream, and then the moment hit him like a thunderclap. That odd-beyond-describing feeling that he had been there before, done the same thing, seen the same sight…
And then he would recall that it had been a dream — one of those dreams.
“So those stories Mother used to tell, about the shepherds and the angels on the night I was born?” he asked slowly.
“All true — within the bounds of how a proud mother might remember an extraordinary event.”
There was a long silence, as he peered heavenward. Yes, that definitely was a star. “And now this,” he said, so softly that it was barely audible. “’This is my son, my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.’” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly…then another…and one more. “I was led here to the Jordan to be baptized — so I could find out this — that God is claiming me as his son?”
Another long silence, then, “I know it’s a lot to process.”
Jesus grunted. “That’s the understatement of the year. Finding out Mother was already with child when she and Father got married was a lot to process. Finding out I’m supposed to be the Son of God makes my head want to explode.”
“Not ‘supposed to be,’ Jesus. You are. At some level, in some way, you’ve always known you were special. You just never knew how special, in what way. And now you do.”
Jesus shook his head. “It’s too much.”
“It’s a lot.”
Another look toward the sky. “It’s too much,” he repeated. “I’m a man — a human being, that’s all.”
“And that’s the truth — but not the whole truth.” The tone changed, now. “This is going to take some time.”
“Time I’ve got, it’s understanding I’m a little short of.”
“Then let’s figure it out together.”
Jesus frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s time to understand. It’s time for you to know who you are, and what you have been called to do. Your ancestors spent decades in the wilderness figuring it out, after they left Egypt. I think we can cut that down considerably.” Pause. “A month ought to do — a month alone, in the wilderness, where there are no distractions, nothing to keep you from connecting with that part of yourself that you’ve been avoiding so far. A month should do nicely.”
Jesus took in the words, let them revolve around his consciousness. Run! part of him thought, Run far and fast. But the other part — the best of him — knew the right thing, and he embraced it…albeit with some bemusement. Son of God? He had never heard of such a thing.
He stood up, flicked the fish off the end of the stick that had been holding it in the fire…let the jackals feast tonight, he thought. “I’m ready,” he said, to no one he could see. “Where do I go from here?”
And without a word, his feet began to carry him into the wilderness.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 12, 2020, issue.
Copyright 2020 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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“Gloriously Stormy Worship” by David O. Bales
“The Perfect Candidate” by David O. Bales
“Understanding” by Keith Hewitt
Gloriously Stormy Worship
by David O. Bales
Psalm 29
“No one could remember such a windstorm,” Abuyah said. “Two days. Occasionally a shower of rain, but mostly just gust after gust like the weather was playing a game and each blast fighting the last. Anyone who dared step outside to traverse a Jerusalem street found themselves leaning. Little children were blown over. I was just a boy, but my father had taken me along to help the other priests.” Abuyah rested on his ragged cushion and gazed at the old men he’d invited to his home for this early evening meal. It was the thirtieth anniversary of the Jerusalem temple’s destruction by the Babylonians. The guests resembled the land they lived in. Jerusalem and Judah were in ruins and the Babylonians left few people living in the area. This remnant of Judah’s population was at wits end trying to survive, let alone to figure out what their nation’s destruction might mean for their religion’s future.
“The priests and Levites heard the storm all night,” Abuyah continued, “Hoped it would abate; but, this morning they faced even worse weather than yesterday. The cold was one thing, froze your dripping nose red; but, the hardest was to keep the fires burning under the sacrifices. Made you wish the temple court had a roof.
“You’d think those bedraggled priests would push along the sacrifices as quickly as possible and get out of the tempest. Pray their prayers, let the Levites chant their quickened praise. Maybe tomorrow’s worship would feel more meaningful. But right there the most awesome thing happened.”
His elderly friends, dour and hopeless, perked up whenever anyone talked about the temple. Most of them had seen it before it was destroyed. His telling them was like their being able to experience with him the heartbeat of Judah which had stopped when worship on Jerusalem’s temple mount halted.
“This tottery priest with his robe flopping in the wind, was suddenly in ecstasy. He’d always been strange, bug-eyed and bandy-legged, but he was born a priest and that’s what he did, stumbling around, talking to himself, fiddling with this or that, getting in everyone’s way. This morning everyone else is dashing around, hand over an ear to stop the wind’s stabbing pain, and he’s got his arms up in the air, face to the sky, blabbering: ‘Ascribe to the LORD, O heavenly beings, ascribe to the LORD glory and strength. Ascribe to the LORD the glory of his name; worship the LORD in holy splendor.’ He’s talking to the angels, like he knows they’re mixed up in this storm and they’re delighted with it.
“The rest of the priests are doing their best to complete their tasks. He turns to them and shouts with a rumbling sound we’d never heard from him, ‘The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the LORD, over mighty waters,’ like at that moment he actually sees through all this uproar and perceives the LORD above heaven’s ocean.
“The LORD’s servants are squinting against the wind and here he is: eyes wide and glazed over, facing into the force of it, dancing with glee. Lightning smashes the north side of the temple. Thunder lifts us off our feet and he yells, ‘The voice of the LORD is powerful; the voice of the LORD is full of majesty. The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars; the LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon.’”
Abuyah talked louder and faster, tipping his head up and turning his eyes above his guests. “The rest of those holy servants in the LORD’s court finally drop their duties. Everyone moves towards him, like he’s at the bottom of a funnel that’s dripping the LORD’s message upon them. He turns and points to the north, ‘The LORD makes Lebanon skip like a calf, and Sirion like a young wild ox.’ Another lighting slams its thunder on us and he shouts, ‘The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.’ He points south, ‘The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness; the LORD shakes the wilderness of Kadesh.’
“Everyone’s drawn into heaven’s activity swirling around the old man. The LORD’s presence permeates the court of the priests. The old priest shouts like an announcement, ‘The voice of the LORD causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare.’
“The other priests and Levites are gasping, some laughing, some crying, some doing both. By that time I’ve gotten behind my father. Then, like the voice of a lion the old man roars, ‘Glory!’ Everyone flinches, and the old guy shrieks again ‘Glory!’ shaking us all. Then he shouts again and again with every breath, ‘Glory, Glory, Glory!’ and soon everyone is shouting with him, such glory as you’d think could join with the wind to topple the temple. On and on for an hour.
“Then as abruptly, he stops. Stops. So do all the others, though each eye is upon him and everyone’s trying to catch his breath to see what might come next. At that moment, the winds cease, like they were a taut rope cut with a sword’s one sweep. Everyone’s wobbly, stunned and weeping.
“He turns to his fellow servants and states simply, like giving a report, ‘The LORD sits enthroned over the flood; the LORD sits enthroned as king forever.’ Then that old man, seemingly back to his right mind, spreads his arms to us, as at every priestly blessing, and states, ‘May the LORD give strength to his people! May the LORD bless his people with peace!’ and he walks away as though he doesn’t even remember what had just transpired.”
Abuyah takes a deep breath and speaks quietly to his gathered friends, “I thought that as we recall the day of the temple’s ruin, we should hold to this memory of our LORD’s glory.” Then he says, “Glory.” After a pause he speaks louder, “Glory.” Then he bellows to the group, “Glory!” at which all the old men struggle to their feet as quickly as they can. Jumping and throwing their arms to heaven, they leap around shouting together, “Glory! Glory! Glory!” until the sun sets and these remnants of the LORD’s defeated nation of Judah finally fall over in exhaustion.
Preaching point: Remembering the LORD’s glory even in the worst circumstances
* * *
The Perfect Candidate
by David O. Bales
Isaiah 42:1-9
“I don’t see why we have to hurry,” Shirley said.
“Because,” Wendy said, “Greenwald’s doing a flyby. He’s an important agent and he’s only agreed to consider you as a favor. He’s giving us a few minutes. He says it’s best if right now no one connects him with your campaign. So when we get inside, don’t get stopped by a conversation. No eye-contact. Just right through to a back table.”
As soon as they entered Denny’s Restaurant, Wendy asked to be seated at a back table and told the greeter they had another guest arriving. Shirley did as she was told and followed with her head down as though inspecting the floor. “Don’t see why this has to be so hush-hush,” she said after they’d been seated.
“It’s a major sneak,” Wendy said. “As far as the party’s concerned, you’re going to be the candidate from nowhere, and….” She looked across the dining room to the entrance and jumped up. “It’s Greenwald,” she said. He spotted her wave and buttoned his blazer as he walked to their booth. Shirley figured he was about 55: both his age and his pounds overweight. She stood as Wendy said, “Shirley, this is Greenwald, who might agree to work as your campaign manager.”
“Hi, hi, hi,” he said as he shook her hand and squeezed into the booth across from the two smiling women. “Really glad to meet you, Shirley. Wendy’s filled me in on a lot. Decided for sure, then, the state’s sixth representative district?”
Shirley nodded.
“Wendy says you’re a natural and sounds like she’s the right chairperson,” he smiled at Wendy. He spread his hands toward Shirley, “so tell me, how do you see it?” He looked at Shirley and Wendy was about to answer when the waitress came for their order.
“Back to business,” he said as he looked at his watch. “Got to dash up state and be at the capital for the 1:30 debate in the senate. Sure you don’t want to run for the senate? I’ve led four successful campaigns for state senators.”
Wendy said, “I agree. Shirley’s everything a senator can be.”
Shirley said quietly, “Representative.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Then, let’s hear what we’ve got to work with.”
“I’ve made notes,” Wendy put in. “First, Shirley’s absolutely clean. Unimpeachable reputation. One husband, two kids, no dirt.”
Shirley leaned back and raised her eyelids, “Good start?”
Greenwald and Wendy laughed. “Just kidding,” Wendy said. “But look what our committee — in secret by the way — has planned. Before Platter knows what hit him, we’ll have advertisements plastered around town and buzzing on the radio. Beginning May 1. Testimonials all the way from her first grade teacher to her father-in-law. Platter’s reelection folk with be at ‘ready’ and we’ll be at ‘go.’ When they hear about her, people who haven’t voted for decades will be lining up at the court house to register. Our citizens will know instantly she’s a family and consumer science teacher — ”
Greenwald cut her off, “What? Never heard of it.”
“Home economics,” Shirley said smiling.
Wendy went on, “and a marathoner. She’ll leave the opposition in her draft as she speeds by. We’ve even come up with a jingle for her campaign.”
“Let’s hear it,” Greenwald said.
“It’s a secret,” Wendy said, pursed her lips and shook her head.
Greenwald smiled at the amateur approach to campaigning. “All right,” he said. “So you’re going to catch the Platter people flat-footed. They’ll only see your backside as you advance in the distance. Go on.”
Wendy chuckled and continued. “All Platter does is tell our citizens they need to give less and receive more. Anybody who disagrees with him he turns into a boogeyman and pins a nasty name on them, and — .”
“I know all that,” Greenwald said. He turned again to Shirley who was listening to Wendy and tracing her finger in the ring of water on the table from her glass of Diet Pepsi. The two women had been friends since they started as rookie high school teachers 15 years ago. Shirley trusted Wendy’s estimation of what she could accomplish by serving under the state’s great seal in the house of representatives. She took a couple breaths as Wendy and Greenwald waited for her. She cleared her throat, then, “Primarily, I plan not to say anything against the personality of my opponent. No name-calling. Just the issues. I don’t put others down. I can take people disagreeing with me and not get angry. I’ve been doing it with students for 15 years.”
Greenwald squinted and tipped his head to the side.
“I want to break the pattern of campaigns in this state … and the pattern of governing. I’ll go as far as agreeing with Wendy when she’s interviewed as campaign chairperson. She’s set to talk about restoring demo-crazy with democracy. I won’t say that, but I’ll agree with her.”
“Pretty good, huh?” Wendy said and enjoyed stifling a chuckle.
Greenwald extended his hand to Shirley to continue.
“I plan to restore civility to politics. I’ll treat others in the state house as I have always treated my students.”
“We’ve got a bunch of her old students ready to give testimonials,” Wendy said.
Greenwald grimaced and motioned to Shirley to continue
“I will emphasize that democracy is for everyone and not just struggling to get favors for our family and friends. This is the way our democracy was meant to operate: society working together, protecting the weak and enhancing life for all.”
As the women’s lunch was arriving, Greenwald glanced at his watch again.
Wendy rushed to say, “Shirley will be a shining light, an example, a model for others. She’ll bring a new spirit to government. She was born for this.”
“I’ve got to hit the road,” Greenwald said as he shifted out of the booth. “Shirley,” he said, extending his hand for a shake, “really glad to meet you. And Wendy, I assume I’m to communicate with you if I agree to come aboard on this campaign?”
He made it out of the booth and stood. Wendy also stood and hustled behind him. “Right back,” she said to Shirley. She caught up with Greenwald in the parking lot as he unlocked his maroon Mercedes. “What do you think?” she asked with a broad smile. “You can see: no long winded speeches.”
He spoke fast, “Seems you think those boys upstate don’t have any more quarters to plunk in the political machine.”
“I know it won’t be easy,” Wendy said, smiling again. “But what do you think about Shirley as a candidate?”
He swung onto the seat with a thump and continued to speak quickly, “I don’t think she’s got a chance in this world.” He closed the door and lowered the window. “But, tomorrow I’ll send you an email with a contract for my fees and services.”
Preaching point: God’s kind of ruler has no earthly chance to succeed.
* * *
Understanding
by Keith Hewitt
The sun was fading, but not gone — sinking near the horizon, but not yet touching the summit of the hills. A small fire snapped and crackled inside a ring of rocks, its smoke carrying the scent of broiling fish toward heaven; Jesus’ eyes followed the smoke skyward, remained fixed on nothing in particular. He sat like that, sitting cross leggged in the dirt, until a voice said, “It’s almost like you didn’t know.”
Jesus snorted gently and shook his head, still staring skyward. “I didn’t. How could I?” He paused, added softly, “I’m not sure I believe it now.”
“How could you not know?” the voice asked reasonably.
Jesus took his eyes off the darkening sky. “What do you mean?”
“Seriously? Haven’t you been paying attention for the last thirty years? Don’t you listen to the stories told around the family dinner table?”
Jesus looked down at his feet, dusty from days of travel from Galilee to Jordan. “Of course I have — of course I listen,” he said quietly.
“Then maybe you just didn’t believe?”
Jesus shrugged, looked back up at the sky, now turning a deep violet. “Of course I believed — I just, you know…assumed there was some exaggeration taking place. You know how families do; you know how parents are. As grandfather has said more than once, stories improve in the retelling, and sometimes they improve so much that it’s hard to tell what really happened.”
“Grandfather said a lot of things. That’s what grandfathers do.”
“No doubt.”
Jesus squinted a little — was that a star up there? The first star of the evening? “So the stories about the scholars from Babylon — the gold, the frankincense, the myrrh, the journey to Egypt. Those are all true?”
He could almost hear a shrug. “You tell me. You remember the long journey to Nazareth. You remember what was said. And those gifts — they would have made it all possible, wouldn’t they?”
“Father said that more than once,” Jesus agreed. Joseph had been a tradesman, earning enough to support the family, but not enough to pay for them to emigrate to a foreign land…and then return. Those were not the kinds of things most families could do, without help — or unless they were desperate beyond reason.
“And the dreams — the ones Father never mentioned, but Mother would tell you about later. Those were not the sort of thing that happen to most people — believe me, I know.”
Jesus lowered his eyes, looked away. As long as he could remember, he’d had special dreams as well — and in the years since his father died, it almost seemed as though the dreams had been passed on to him. They were vivid, and confusing — and troubling. And yet each one, slowly, seemed to be pushing him in a particular way, toward a particular journey…a particular end.
Some nights he woke up in a cold sweat, on the ragged edge of panic, unable to remember what he’d been dreaming about but knowing it had taken him there. Those were the nights that ended in fervent prayers that brought on the dawn. Sometimes he remembered — and sometimes he didn’t quite remember, until he found himself doing what he’d been urged to do in a dream, and then the moment hit him like a thunderclap. That odd-beyond-describing feeling that he had been there before, done the same thing, seen the same sight…
And then he would recall that it had been a dream — one of those dreams.
“So those stories Mother used to tell, about the shepherds and the angels on the night I was born?” he asked slowly.
“All true — within the bounds of how a proud mother might remember an extraordinary event.”
There was a long silence, as he peered heavenward. Yes, that definitely was a star. “And now this,” he said, so softly that it was barely audible. “’This is my son, my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.’” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly…then another…and one more. “I was led here to the Jordan to be baptized — so I could find out this — that God is claiming me as his son?”
Another long silence, then, “I know it’s a lot to process.”
Jesus grunted. “That’s the understatement of the year. Finding out Mother was already with child when she and Father got married was a lot to process. Finding out I’m supposed to be the Son of God makes my head want to explode.”
“Not ‘supposed to be,’ Jesus. You are. At some level, in some way, you’ve always known you were special. You just never knew how special, in what way. And now you do.”
Jesus shook his head. “It’s too much.”
“It’s a lot.”
Another look toward the sky. “It’s too much,” he repeated. “I’m a man — a human being, that’s all.”
“And that’s the truth — but not the whole truth.” The tone changed, now. “This is going to take some time.”
“Time I’ve got, it’s understanding I’m a little short of.”
“Then let’s figure it out together.”
Jesus frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s time to understand. It’s time for you to know who you are, and what you have been called to do. Your ancestors spent decades in the wilderness figuring it out, after they left Egypt. I think we can cut that down considerably.” Pause. “A month ought to do — a month alone, in the wilderness, where there are no distractions, nothing to keep you from connecting with that part of yourself that you’ve been avoiding so far. A month should do nicely.”
Jesus took in the words, let them revolve around his consciousness. Run! part of him thought, Run far and fast. But the other part — the best of him — knew the right thing, and he embraced it…albeit with some bemusement. Son of God? He had never heard of such a thing.
He stood up, flicked the fish off the end of the stick that had been holding it in the fire…let the jackals feast tonight, he thought. “I’m ready,” he said, to no one he could see. “Where do I go from here?”
And without a word, his feet began to carry him into the wilderness.
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StoryShare, January 12, 2020, issue.
Copyright 2020 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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