Innocent Until Proven Guilty
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
Good Stories: "The Church: A Building Or A Family?" by Terry Cain
"Innocent Until Proven Guilty" by C. David McKirachan
A Sermon Starter: "Gravensteins" by David O. Bales
What's Up This Week
God is always with us no matter if we are at home, at work, or at church. God works through each of us to bring other to Christ. But what must we do? How should we act? What can we do to bring others to Christ? Jesus says that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. Which commandment do you think is the most important? Your answer tells a lot about you as a person.
Good Stories
The Church: A Building Or A Family?
By Terry Cain
Ruth 1:1-18
Kenneth had heard the weather reports ahead of the rainstorm and was not caught unawares concerning the possibility that Fern Dale, where his sister lived in another state, could be subject to some serious flooding. When the evening news reported that Fern Dale had indeed suffered some flooding he was getting ready to call his sister to see if her home had any damage. Her house was borderline on the flood plain and they both knew that there was always the possibility of flooding during a heavy rainstorm. Before he could get her called the phone rang and she was on the other end of the line.
"Kenny, I just wanted to tell you that the rain has stopped and the creek has quickly peaked out and will not rise any more than it already has. It didn't reach our property; we're safe this time. But the bad news is that it has flooded our church. Since you and I went there all the years we were growing up, it has meant so much to us. It is the only church I ever knew as I have gone there all my life. And now they believe it will be damaged too much to repair and our insurance does not cover the flood damage. Our membership has shrunk during the last few years so much that we just don't have the numbers to get the church going after a disaster such as this. It just hurts me so to think that we will lose our church now."
Kenneth tried to comfort his sister over the phone as best he could. After hanging up he continued to think about her situation and then called her back.
"Sis, I just thought of something you might consider and meditate on the next few days. Do you remember when we lost our church here in the city? You attended there four or five times when you were visiting us. As you know it was the typical old inner city church in a transition and highly mobile neighborhood. First, about four years ago our membership had dwindled so much that we could no longer afford a full-time pastor and all the trimmings that go with one: insurance, parsonage, and so forth. We had to go to a part time minister, a student from the church college. Then about two years ago our small membership could no longer keep up with the cost of such a large old building. The utilities were out of sight. We needed a new roof. We were told that our furnaces might not last much longer. The cost of maintenance was becoming too much for us. So, as you well know, we gave up the building and moved into the vacant hardware store building a few blocks away. We could afford the rent and we made do with the facilities though they were not designed for a church program."
His sister replied, "Yes, Kenny, I remember that and how several of your members had gone to that church all their lives and they took it pretty hard."
"Exactly. But what I wanted to tell you involved some of those old time members. One day just shortly before we closed the building and moved to our new location two of our members, Miss Thompson and Mrs. Cora Lee James were standing out in front of the church visiting with me. I'll never forget that conversation. They were venting their feelings about losing their beloved church and how it would never be the same again. There were tears in their eyes I remember. Standing close by was the Carter family and their daughter, Carolyn, who was thirteen at the time. You may remember her; she was the dark haired girl that always lit the candles. She overheard our conversation and stepped over to our group and spoke very kindly to the two grieving ladies. 'I will miss our church very much also. I know, of course, not as much as you will. But when we get to the new location, the real church will be there for me. For me the real church is you, Miss Thompson, and you, Mrs. James, and you, Mr. Rager and the other Sunday school teachers I have had and all our church family! They will be there and I will be with them and God will be there with us.' I thought that was very astute for a thirteen year old."
"Thanks for sharing that with me, Kenny."
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
Gravensteins
By David O. Bales
One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, 'The first is, "Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength." The second is this, "You shall love your neighbour as yourself." There is no other commandment greater than these.' Then the scribe said to him, "You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that 'he is one, and besides him there is no other'; and 'to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength', and 'to love one's neighbour as oneself', -- this is much more important than all whole burnt-offerings and sacrifices." When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God." After that no one dared to ask him any question.
-- Mark 12:28-34
He could smell them; almost see them in a bucket sitting at the foot of the ladder. He loved Gravenstein apples. That's why he'd planted the tree fifteen years ago. Now the tree was producing wonderfully, filling the late summer wind with the smell of its sugar; but, Bert was on the wrong side of the seven-foot board fence. The tree stood now in Eve's backyard, Eve his ex-wife. All he had in his backyard was a peach tree, dripping with late fruit. Peaches made the inside of his mouth break out with sores, so even their smell made him a little sick.
How he loved Gravensteins. As an only child he'd done everything with his mother -- a single parent -- from picking the apples, to peeling them, to squashing them through the colander. His mother would say, "Would you like a taste?"
Bert, nearly salivating into the bowl, would answer, "Yes, please." His mother would give him a spoonful. He'd close his eyes as he swallowed and always said, "Mmmm, thank you, would you like a bite?"
His mother would answer, "Yes, please." His spoonful to her would automatically bring the required, "Thank you, would you like a bite?" and they'd eat their fill of Gravenstein applesauce a spoon to one another at a time.
Gravenstein applesauce was the best applesauce on the planet. That's all he could think about every afternoon when he came home from work and walked into his high fenced backyard. Over the fence he could see the top of the ladder against the tree. Eve surely thought of him when she set the ladder up. She must remember he loved that tree. His side of the barricaded yard offered only mouth destroying peaches.
The divorce had been as civil as possible. The children were grown and married. The finances were simple. All they really owned was the duplex, one side of which they'd lived in and the other they'd rented out. The mediator made the obvious suggestion. If they didn't want to sell, they should evict the tenant, then one of them live in one side and one in the other. It was logical. It was economical. It was stupid, Bert thought. But he shook his head yes, signed the papers, and three weeks later Bert Junior helped him move his things from the small apartment he was renting over a drugstore into the empty side of the duplex. There he began living as his ex-wife's neighbor.
Because they'd live so close he decided in advance how to behave when they met. The wisest course would be never to talk. If they didn't talk, they'd never argue. For seven months the arrangement had worked. They'd seen one another a few times; but, when Bert walked right by without speaking, Eve adopted the same pattern.
But now the Gravensteins -- in the spring he'd smelled the blossoms constantly. Then as the fruit set on he'd walk out of the house into the backyard and step backward from Eve's fence so he could see higher and higher up the tree. Those fruit were beautiful, but they made him feel as lonely as an only child on an empty playground.
He heard a door open on the other side of the fence. Rustling sounds filtered through the fence as Eve walked from her backdoor to somewhere near the tree. He froze. For a few moments he forgot to breathe. He tried to see her movements through the tight slats. He was unprepared to hear her voice.
"Bert," Eve spoke from her side of the fence. He wasn't sure where Eve stood in her yard. He tried to spot movement through the fence's tiny cracks. "Bert," she spoke louder. "I know you're there." He'd heard that tone for over thirty years, and it always angered him. "Bert. I'm picking apples. You want some?" He breathed fast. She was shuffling the ladder and he saw the top lowered, knocking a couple apples off. When they bounced onto the sidewalk he answered almost in a whisper, "Yes, please."
"Did you say something?"
"Yes, please," he said a little louder.
"All right. Pick all you want. Just make sure you shut the back gate so Iris doesn't get out. She ran away last week. Okay?"
Bert's thoughts seemed mashed together like apples in a colander. He spoke almost automatically, "Thank you." Through a couple cracks in the fence he thought he saw her move. By the sound he pictured her dragging the ladder toward the house. Almost in spite of himself he said, "Eve?"
"Yes."
"You want some peaches?"
"Sure. Thanks."
"Yeah," Bert said, swallowing hard, "thank you."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian minister for 30 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
A Sermon Starter
Innocent Until Proven Guilty
By C. David McKirachan
But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God!
-- Hebrews 9:11-14
Many heroic stories come out of wartime. I remember hearing one such story purported to be true that relates an event that happened in a concentration camp during one of our past wars. The details may not be accurate and the names certainly aren't, but the over all circumstance is etched clearly in my memory.
In this particular camp, the prisoners of war were made to work on projects each day. Some were assigned easier tasks around the camp such as preparing meals while others had far more strenuous jobs that required more taxing manual labor. For example, one crew was taken out each morning to spend a full day at hard labor on the roads. The men used picks and shovels to dig ditches and make roads in the jungle. The work was backbreaking and done in very hot weather.
One member of this road crew, Rex, was a quiet sort of person who went about his work and never complained. He was always polite to everyone, even the guards. He was always willing to help others and was considered friendly despite his reserved nature. Because he was so quiet, the others did not get to know him very well, but had a lot of respect for him because he was always pleasant and concerned about other people and their welfare. He had even been known to share some of his water with the other men when everyone was suffering from the heat.
Making matters worse for the road gang, as if their work wasn't demanding and torturous enough, there was one guard who was particularly mean and hard on the men. His name was not known among the men, they just called him "the beast," -- behind his back of course. He wouldn't allow the men to rest and had been known to even knock the cup of water out of their hands for no reason. Beatings were not uncommon.
One evening as the road gang prepared to return to camp after their day's labor on the road, the guards counted the tools as usual as they were being put away. This night the count revealed that one of the picks was missing. The beast lined the men up and screamed at them. He was eager to get back to camp and his waiting dinner. "Who hid the pick?" he yelled. No one answered. He continued to harangue the men. "There will be no meal tonight for any of you and every one of you will be beaten if that pickaxe doesn't turn up immediately."
No one responded and the beast got angrier and angrier. As he picked up a shovel and threatened the first man in line, Rex spoke up saying, "I hid the pickaxe."
The beast became irate and started beating Rex with the shovel until he killed him.
The work crew returned to camp that night and as the guards counted the equipment as it was being put away in the tool shed, they found that none of the tools were missing -- there had simply been a miscount.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, November 5, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
What's Up This Week
Good Stories: "The Church: A Building Or A Family?" by Terry Cain
"Innocent Until Proven Guilty" by C. David McKirachan
A Sermon Starter: "Gravensteins" by David O. Bales
What's Up This Week
God is always with us no matter if we are at home, at work, or at church. God works through each of us to bring other to Christ. But what must we do? How should we act? What can we do to bring others to Christ? Jesus says that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. Which commandment do you think is the most important? Your answer tells a lot about you as a person.
Good Stories
The Church: A Building Or A Family?
By Terry Cain
Ruth 1:1-18
Kenneth had heard the weather reports ahead of the rainstorm and was not caught unawares concerning the possibility that Fern Dale, where his sister lived in another state, could be subject to some serious flooding. When the evening news reported that Fern Dale had indeed suffered some flooding he was getting ready to call his sister to see if her home had any damage. Her house was borderline on the flood plain and they both knew that there was always the possibility of flooding during a heavy rainstorm. Before he could get her called the phone rang and she was on the other end of the line.
"Kenny, I just wanted to tell you that the rain has stopped and the creek has quickly peaked out and will not rise any more than it already has. It didn't reach our property; we're safe this time. But the bad news is that it has flooded our church. Since you and I went there all the years we were growing up, it has meant so much to us. It is the only church I ever knew as I have gone there all my life. And now they believe it will be damaged too much to repair and our insurance does not cover the flood damage. Our membership has shrunk during the last few years so much that we just don't have the numbers to get the church going after a disaster such as this. It just hurts me so to think that we will lose our church now."
Kenneth tried to comfort his sister over the phone as best he could. After hanging up he continued to think about her situation and then called her back.
"Sis, I just thought of something you might consider and meditate on the next few days. Do you remember when we lost our church here in the city? You attended there four or five times when you were visiting us. As you know it was the typical old inner city church in a transition and highly mobile neighborhood. First, about four years ago our membership had dwindled so much that we could no longer afford a full-time pastor and all the trimmings that go with one: insurance, parsonage, and so forth. We had to go to a part time minister, a student from the church college. Then about two years ago our small membership could no longer keep up with the cost of such a large old building. The utilities were out of sight. We needed a new roof. We were told that our furnaces might not last much longer. The cost of maintenance was becoming too much for us. So, as you well know, we gave up the building and moved into the vacant hardware store building a few blocks away. We could afford the rent and we made do with the facilities though they were not designed for a church program."
His sister replied, "Yes, Kenny, I remember that and how several of your members had gone to that church all their lives and they took it pretty hard."
"Exactly. But what I wanted to tell you involved some of those old time members. One day just shortly before we closed the building and moved to our new location two of our members, Miss Thompson and Mrs. Cora Lee James were standing out in front of the church visiting with me. I'll never forget that conversation. They were venting their feelings about losing their beloved church and how it would never be the same again. There were tears in their eyes I remember. Standing close by was the Carter family and their daughter, Carolyn, who was thirteen at the time. You may remember her; she was the dark haired girl that always lit the candles. She overheard our conversation and stepped over to our group and spoke very kindly to the two grieving ladies. 'I will miss our church very much also. I know, of course, not as much as you will. But when we get to the new location, the real church will be there for me. For me the real church is you, Miss Thompson, and you, Mrs. James, and you, Mr. Rager and the other Sunday school teachers I have had and all our church family! They will be there and I will be with them and God will be there with us.' I thought that was very astute for a thirteen year old."
"Thanks for sharing that with me, Kenny."
Terry Cain is a retired United Methodist pastor who served his entire ministry in eastern Nebraska, including 25 years in Lincoln. He is the author of Shaking Wolves Out of Cherry Trees and Lions and Cows Dining Together. Cain is a graduate of Nebraska Wesleyan University (B.A.), St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City (M.Div.), and San Francisco Theological Seminary (D.Min.).
Gravensteins
By David O. Bales
One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?" Jesus answered, 'The first is, "Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength." The second is this, "You shall love your neighbour as yourself." There is no other commandment greater than these.' Then the scribe said to him, "You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that 'he is one, and besides him there is no other'; and 'to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength', and 'to love one's neighbour as oneself', -- this is much more important than all whole burnt-offerings and sacrifices." When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, "You are not far from the kingdom of God." After that no one dared to ask him any question.
-- Mark 12:28-34
He could smell them; almost see them in a bucket sitting at the foot of the ladder. He loved Gravenstein apples. That's why he'd planted the tree fifteen years ago. Now the tree was producing wonderfully, filling the late summer wind with the smell of its sugar; but, Bert was on the wrong side of the seven-foot board fence. The tree stood now in Eve's backyard, Eve his ex-wife. All he had in his backyard was a peach tree, dripping with late fruit. Peaches made the inside of his mouth break out with sores, so even their smell made him a little sick.
How he loved Gravensteins. As an only child he'd done everything with his mother -- a single parent -- from picking the apples, to peeling them, to squashing them through the colander. His mother would say, "Would you like a taste?"
Bert, nearly salivating into the bowl, would answer, "Yes, please." His mother would give him a spoonful. He'd close his eyes as he swallowed and always said, "Mmmm, thank you, would you like a bite?"
His mother would answer, "Yes, please." His spoonful to her would automatically bring the required, "Thank you, would you like a bite?" and they'd eat their fill of Gravenstein applesauce a spoon to one another at a time.
Gravenstein applesauce was the best applesauce on the planet. That's all he could think about every afternoon when he came home from work and walked into his high fenced backyard. Over the fence he could see the top of the ladder against the tree. Eve surely thought of him when she set the ladder up. She must remember he loved that tree. His side of the barricaded yard offered only mouth destroying peaches.
The divorce had been as civil as possible. The children were grown and married. The finances were simple. All they really owned was the duplex, one side of which they'd lived in and the other they'd rented out. The mediator made the obvious suggestion. If they didn't want to sell, they should evict the tenant, then one of them live in one side and one in the other. It was logical. It was economical. It was stupid, Bert thought. But he shook his head yes, signed the papers, and three weeks later Bert Junior helped him move his things from the small apartment he was renting over a drugstore into the empty side of the duplex. There he began living as his ex-wife's neighbor.
Because they'd live so close he decided in advance how to behave when they met. The wisest course would be never to talk. If they didn't talk, they'd never argue. For seven months the arrangement had worked. They'd seen one another a few times; but, when Bert walked right by without speaking, Eve adopted the same pattern.
But now the Gravensteins -- in the spring he'd smelled the blossoms constantly. Then as the fruit set on he'd walk out of the house into the backyard and step backward from Eve's fence so he could see higher and higher up the tree. Those fruit were beautiful, but they made him feel as lonely as an only child on an empty playground.
He heard a door open on the other side of the fence. Rustling sounds filtered through the fence as Eve walked from her backdoor to somewhere near the tree. He froze. For a few moments he forgot to breathe. He tried to see her movements through the tight slats. He was unprepared to hear her voice.
"Bert," Eve spoke from her side of the fence. He wasn't sure where Eve stood in her yard. He tried to spot movement through the fence's tiny cracks. "Bert," she spoke louder. "I know you're there." He'd heard that tone for over thirty years, and it always angered him. "Bert. I'm picking apples. You want some?" He breathed fast. She was shuffling the ladder and he saw the top lowered, knocking a couple apples off. When they bounced onto the sidewalk he answered almost in a whisper, "Yes, please."
"Did you say something?"
"Yes, please," he said a little louder.
"All right. Pick all you want. Just make sure you shut the back gate so Iris doesn't get out. She ran away last week. Okay?"
Bert's thoughts seemed mashed together like apples in a colander. He spoke almost automatically, "Thank you." Through a couple cracks in the fence he thought he saw her move. By the sound he pictured her dragging the ladder toward the house. Almost in spite of himself he said, "Eve?"
"Yes."
"You want some peaches?"
"Sure. Thanks."
"Yeah," Bert said, swallowing hard, "thank you."
David O. Bales has been a Presbyterian minister for 30 years. Recently retired as the pastor of Bethany Presbyterian Church in Ontario, Oregon, he is also a freelance writer and editor for Stephen Ministries and Tebunah Ministries. His sermons and articles have appeared in Lectionary Homiletics, Preaching Great Texts, and Interpretation, and he is the author of Gospel Subplots: Story Sermons of God's Grace (CSS). Bales is a graduate of the University of Portland and San Francisco Theological Seminary.
A Sermon Starter
Innocent Until Proven Guilty
By C. David McKirachan
But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God!
-- Hebrews 9:11-14
Many heroic stories come out of wartime. I remember hearing one such story purported to be true that relates an event that happened in a concentration camp during one of our past wars. The details may not be accurate and the names certainly aren't, but the over all circumstance is etched clearly in my memory.
In this particular camp, the prisoners of war were made to work on projects each day. Some were assigned easier tasks around the camp such as preparing meals while others had far more strenuous jobs that required more taxing manual labor. For example, one crew was taken out each morning to spend a full day at hard labor on the roads. The men used picks and shovels to dig ditches and make roads in the jungle. The work was backbreaking and done in very hot weather.
One member of this road crew, Rex, was a quiet sort of person who went about his work and never complained. He was always polite to everyone, even the guards. He was always willing to help others and was considered friendly despite his reserved nature. Because he was so quiet, the others did not get to know him very well, but had a lot of respect for him because he was always pleasant and concerned about other people and their welfare. He had even been known to share some of his water with the other men when everyone was suffering from the heat.
Making matters worse for the road gang, as if their work wasn't demanding and torturous enough, there was one guard who was particularly mean and hard on the men. His name was not known among the men, they just called him "the beast," -- behind his back of course. He wouldn't allow the men to rest and had been known to even knock the cup of water out of their hands for no reason. Beatings were not uncommon.
One evening as the road gang prepared to return to camp after their day's labor on the road, the guards counted the tools as usual as they were being put away. This night the count revealed that one of the picks was missing. The beast lined the men up and screamed at them. He was eager to get back to camp and his waiting dinner. "Who hid the pick?" he yelled. No one answered. He continued to harangue the men. "There will be no meal tonight for any of you and every one of you will be beaten if that pickaxe doesn't turn up immediately."
No one responded and the beast got angrier and angrier. As he picked up a shovel and threatened the first man in line, Rex spoke up saying, "I hid the pickaxe."
The beast became irate and started beating Rex with the shovel until he killed him.
The work crew returned to camp that night and as the guards counted the equipment as it was being put away in the tool shed, they found that none of the tools were missing -- there had simply been a miscount.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. Two of his books, I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder, have been published by Westminster John Knox Press. McKirachan was raised in a pastor's home and he is the brother of a pastor, and he has discovered his name indicates that he has druid roots. Storytelling seems to be a congenital disorder. He lives with his 21-year-old son Ben and his dog Sam.
**********************************************
How to Share Stories
You have good stories to share, probably more than you know: personal stories as well as stories from others that you have used over the years. If you have a story you like, whether fictional or "really happened," authored by you or a brief excerpt from a favorite book, send it to StoryShare for review. Simply click here share-a-story@csspub.com and email the story to us.
**************
StoryShare, November 5, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 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., 517 South Main Street, Lima, Ohio 45804.
