Listening For God
Illustration
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Listening for God" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Nathanael" by Larry Winebrenner
"How Many Thoughts" by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * *
Listening for God
by Peter Andrew Smith
1 Samuel 3:1-10 (11-20)
There once was a little church located in the centre of a small town. It was a nice church founded years ago as a place for people to worship God and teach their children about Jesus Christ. While there weren't a large number of people in the little church, everyone worked together to create a good spiritual home and they cared deeply about the gospel.
One of the things that troubled the little church was the growing number of poor and needy families in the town. The economic downturn had hit the area hard and more than a few were barely making ends meet.
"What can we do to help?" the church wondered when they saw the signs of poverty.
Finally after much prayerful discussion within the church, they went into the streets to listen to those in dire circumstances and discovered that many couldn't afford to buy the groceries they needed to feed their families.
"Even if they aren't part of our church we should help them," the church decided.
So the little church started a food bank. Church members staffed the project and gathered donations from throughout the area and from local businesses to feed the hungry. Everyone praised the church for the good works that it was doing and the members were pleased that they were helping in such a meaningful way. Yet there was still need. Frequently those who came for help with groceries also asked about clothing for their children as well as themselves.
"Can we do something more to help?" the church asked.
They considered and consulted and realized that they could add a clothing depot to the food bank with little extra work. So they did. Those who staffed the outreach efforts also helped the people who came to them connect with local services provided by other agencies and the government. The wider community praised the church for its efforts and everyone considered the little church in the small town a great force for good. Yet the people who came for help still seemed to need more.
"Are we not helping enough?" the church wondered. "Are we doing something wrong?"
They considered and discussed the problem but came up with no answer. They were at a loss as to what they could do to help the people who seemed to hunger no matter how much food they were given and who were naked no matter how much clothing they received. The church prayed and searched but were lost as to what to do.
Finally they asked a retired pastor from another town to come among them. The pastor arrived at the church on Sunday morning and joined them as they prayed and worshiped together. He worked beside them as they fed and clothed the poor during the week and watched as they helped the needy navigate the social services available in the area. He got to know the people they served and after a time called the little church to meet with him.
"What are we doing wrong in our programs?" the church asked.
"You are not doing anything wrong that I can see. You are providing food and clothing to people in need," the pastor said. "So maybe that is the wrong question for you to be asking. What is it that you are supposed to be doing as a church?"
"Loving others as Jesus loves us," the church answered, "which is why we reach into the community with our programs."
"You do help others. No one can deny that," he replied. "Yet perhaps you need to do something more for the people in need."
"What more can we do than we are already doing?"
"Listen together to what God is asking from you."
"We have been praying about this for years," the church said. "We always ask God to show us the way forward."
"You do," the pastor said, "but where are the people who you cloth and feed during the week on Sunday morning? You give to them some things but why do you hold back the good news and fellowship that you have as a family of faith?"
The church considered this and decided to spread the message that everyone was welcome to come and join with them on Sunday morning. They invited the people who came to get food and clothing to be a part of who they were as a church.
Over the weeks and months that followed the pews filled with people who had been there for generations and those who had never been to church before. Together they worshiped and prayed and the church experienced a renewal of faith and vitality as different people came together to break bread, care for each other, and be God's people. Revitalized by those who had joined them, the little church finally began to answer God's call.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Nathanael
by Larry Winebrenner
John 1:43-51
Miriam held the newborn child to her breast.
"He's a gift from God," she told her husband, Jonathan.
"Then that's what we'll name him -- Nathanael. That means 'Gift from God.' "
So the child was Nathanael bar-yonathan, Nathanael, son of Jonathan for fathers always named their children -- especially their sons. A wife might suggest, a husband might listen to her, but he had to make the choice.
Being the gift of God, Nathanael tried to live up to his name. A gift from God would know God's covenant, so Nathanael studied the scriptures. Some whispered he knew the scriptures better than the elders that quizzed him at his bar mitzvah.
God's gift should be wise, so Nathanael listened carefully to claims made by others, even his brother Philip. Yes, and the outrageous claims of his friend Simon.
"Jonah -- that was Simon's father, but it was customary for children to address their parents by name except in the most formal setting -- Jonah netted one hundred fish last night. In one haul," Simon would add gleefully.
Nathanael would simply say, "I'd like to see that," not as an item of interest but as a means of confirmation. Nobody caught one hundred fish in one net. That was ridiculous. Later, Nathanael was going to be the most surprised witness of a fishing miracle.
There was a large fig tree behind Jonathan's cottage. The kids in the neighborhood loved to climb its sprawling branches, especially during fig season. They would fill many containers with figs for Miriam, but she could dry only so many and could press only so many fig cakes. She could only sell so many in the marketplace filled with housewives selling figs.
As they picked figs, and after they had finished picking as many as Miriam could use, they would bite the stem off the fig. They would pop the luscious fruit in their mouths and crunch the tiny seeds as they chewed the delicious meat of the fig. Sometimes Philip's belly would protrude like he'd swallowed a melon.
Not Nathanael. Scholars, philosophers, scribes would sit under the comfortable shade of the fig tree. It was their sanctuary. So, Nathanael also sat, sometimes meditating, sometimes reading, sometimes praying.
Nathanael did this as a boy. He did it as a young man. He was doing it, just mumbling, "Lord, if you want me, want me for anything, show yourself to..." as Philip came racing toward him, shouting.
Nathanael jumped to his feet. "What's wrong?" he cried.
"Nothing's wrong," Philip rasped through panting breath. "We've found him!"
"Found him," said a puzzled Nathanael. "Who was lost? Who did you find?"
Poor Philip did not have the religious knowledge his brother had and he dare not startle his brother by announcing "Messiah." He mumbled, "The one Moses mentions. The one the prophets wrote about...."
"You found him where? Where's he from?" Nathanael wanted to search his knowledge. He knew where the Messiah was supposed to come from. Bethlehem. That was the testing point.
"He's the son of Joseph, the carpenter," said Philip.
"Carpenter? Not priest? Not even the self-righteous Pharisee? Carpenter?"
Nathanael was startled at his brother's naivety. But his brother's next announcement was startling. "He's from Nazareth."
Nathanael shook his head. He looked with pity on his brother. First a carpenter and now a jerkwater town that even a thirsty camel would not stop in.
In a muted voice he asked, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"
Philip knew he had no chance debating with his more knowledgeable, more eloquent brother. But Jesus could.
"Come and see for yourself," he told Nathanael. "If you don't agree, I'll never mention this again."
His meditation had already been disturbed, so he clasped his brother with his smooth scholar's hand and said, "Sure Phil. Show me your Messiah. I've long wanted to meet the guy."
Philip looked at his brother. You always had to prove things to him. He was as straight as a Roman soldier's spear. But he had never been sarcastic before. They walked in silence.
Jesus noticed the young man striding toward him, virtually dragging Philip rather than the other way around. Here was one who knew where he was going and was aware exactly of what he wanted to know.
"Ah," he said, "an Israelite who is not deceitful."
Nathanael stopped short. "So, you know me," he said doubtfully. "How did that happen?"
Jesus looked at his scholar's robe. He observed the hands without calluses found on Andrew's and Simon's, and the Boanerges sons' hands. A searching gaze was behind the belligerent tone.
"I saw you under the fig tree. Before Philip went to get you," Jesus told him.
Nathanael's mouth dropped open. Show yourself he thought. Philip was right. He didn't have to quiz this man, this teacher. "Teacher, you are the Son of God! You are the king of Israel!"
Jesus looked into the young man's eyes -- deep into his soul. There was a meeting of minds. He answered Nathanael, "Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You'll see greater things than these. Here's what you'll see. You'll see heaven opened. You'll see the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man."
And oh the joy that filled Nathanael's soul.
How Many Thoughts
by Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 139:17-18a
Little Paul was playing in the sand next to Granddaddy. He addressed the elder man without looking up. With his left hand he would scoop up a handful of dry sand. Most of it filtered through his fingers. He dug through the dry sand to the damp clumps underneath. That wet stuff didn't slip through his figures.
"Granddaddy," he said, still not looking up. "God's pretty smart."
His revelry interrupted, Granddaddy observed, "He sure is. Why do you say that?"
"Daddy says he sees me all the time."
Little Paul continued playing, dry sand through fingers of the left hand, a handful of wet sand tossed a few inches up with right and caught. "Does that bother you?" asked the man.
"No," said Little Paul. "It's kinda good."
"Good?"
Little Paul tossed the sand on the ground and brushed his hands together. A screeching gull flew over and he looked up at the bird and then at Granddaddy.
"God makes the birds too," he said. Then he remembered Granddaddy's question. "Yeah. God's always there, no matter what. If I sit here, whether you're here or not, God's here. If I lie down in the sand and cover myself up. God's there. If I go swimming, God's there."
Granddaddy ruffled Little Paul's hair. The boy ducked. He didn't like that. Why did grown ups always do that? Granddaddy smiled and spoke. "You're quite the theologian," he said.
"I don't know what the theo-whatever is, but I don't understand," Little Paul said.
"You don't understand," repeated Granddaddy.
"That's what I said," spouted Little Paul.
"Understand what?"
"Oh Granddaddy," complained Little Paul. "How can God know everything I do and what my friend Jerry does at the same time? Jerry's home. I'm here."
Granddaddy rubbed his chin. He felt the bristles. He forgot to shave again this morning. He sometimes wondered like Little Paul. But he should try to explain.
"Air is everywhere," he suggested.
"Not under water," countered Little Paul.
Granddaddy rubbed his whiskers again. He breathed in the air. Beaches smelled differently from town. Not so much exhaust fumes. Sometimes a little fishy or like seaweed but always fresh. Natural.
He asked, "Maybe more like noise?"
"Well, noise can't hear," answered Little Paul. "But maybe, kinda like that."
"Maybe, kinda like thoughts." suggested Granddaddy. "You can think about something on the other side of the world, like a kangaroo and almost immediately think of your favorite cat at home."
"Yeah!" shouted Little Paul. "God thinks about everything we do. And God thinks about all the people in the world. But that's my problem. Can God think of all those things at the same time?"
Instead of answering Little Paul, Granddaddy looked down at the sand, hoping to see a small container of some kind. The iridescent hues of a sea shell caught his eye. That was too large. Then he spied a small bottle cap. He picked it up full of sand and handed it to Little Paul.
Little Paul took it gingerly and held it carefully in the palm of his hand. He looked at it a moment and asked, "Why did you give me this, Granddaddy?"
The old man asked, "If you had a large smooth table and poured that sand on the table, how long would it take you to spread the grains out and count them all?"
"I can't do that!" exclaimed Little Paul. "I don't think I can count that high."
"Suppose I asked you to count every grain of sand on this beach."
"Granddaddy, that would take a million years. I won't live that long."
"Then I won't ask you to do it, Little Paul. You asked me if God could think of all the people in the world," consoled Granddaddy. "Your answer is in the Bible. One of the Psalms says this: 'How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! I try to count them -- they are more than the sand.' Does that answer your question?"
"Yessir," muttered Little Paul and he ran down to the water to wade. Looking at the waves and the vastness of the ocean, Little Paul murmured, "I hope Granddaddy doesn't ask me to count the drops of water in the ocean. I bet God's thoughts are that many too."
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 15, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Listening for God" by Peter Andrew Smith
"Nathanael" by Larry Winebrenner
"How Many Thoughts" by Larry Winebrenner
* * * * * * * *
Listening for God
by Peter Andrew Smith
1 Samuel 3:1-10 (11-20)
There once was a little church located in the centre of a small town. It was a nice church founded years ago as a place for people to worship God and teach their children about Jesus Christ. While there weren't a large number of people in the little church, everyone worked together to create a good spiritual home and they cared deeply about the gospel.
One of the things that troubled the little church was the growing number of poor and needy families in the town. The economic downturn had hit the area hard and more than a few were barely making ends meet.
"What can we do to help?" the church wondered when they saw the signs of poverty.
Finally after much prayerful discussion within the church, they went into the streets to listen to those in dire circumstances and discovered that many couldn't afford to buy the groceries they needed to feed their families.
"Even if they aren't part of our church we should help them," the church decided.
So the little church started a food bank. Church members staffed the project and gathered donations from throughout the area and from local businesses to feed the hungry. Everyone praised the church for the good works that it was doing and the members were pleased that they were helping in such a meaningful way. Yet there was still need. Frequently those who came for help with groceries also asked about clothing for their children as well as themselves.
"Can we do something more to help?" the church asked.
They considered and consulted and realized that they could add a clothing depot to the food bank with little extra work. So they did. Those who staffed the outreach efforts also helped the people who came to them connect with local services provided by other agencies and the government. The wider community praised the church for its efforts and everyone considered the little church in the small town a great force for good. Yet the people who came for help still seemed to need more.
"Are we not helping enough?" the church wondered. "Are we doing something wrong?"
They considered and discussed the problem but came up with no answer. They were at a loss as to what they could do to help the people who seemed to hunger no matter how much food they were given and who were naked no matter how much clothing they received. The church prayed and searched but were lost as to what to do.
Finally they asked a retired pastor from another town to come among them. The pastor arrived at the church on Sunday morning and joined them as they prayed and worshiped together. He worked beside them as they fed and clothed the poor during the week and watched as they helped the needy navigate the social services available in the area. He got to know the people they served and after a time called the little church to meet with him.
"What are we doing wrong in our programs?" the church asked.
"You are not doing anything wrong that I can see. You are providing food and clothing to people in need," the pastor said. "So maybe that is the wrong question for you to be asking. What is it that you are supposed to be doing as a church?"
"Loving others as Jesus loves us," the church answered, "which is why we reach into the community with our programs."
"You do help others. No one can deny that," he replied. "Yet perhaps you need to do something more for the people in need."
"What more can we do than we are already doing?"
"Listen together to what God is asking from you."
"We have been praying about this for years," the church said. "We always ask God to show us the way forward."
"You do," the pastor said, "but where are the people who you cloth and feed during the week on Sunday morning? You give to them some things but why do you hold back the good news and fellowship that you have as a family of faith?"
The church considered this and decided to spread the message that everyone was welcome to come and join with them on Sunday morning. They invited the people who came to get food and clothing to be a part of who they were as a church.
Over the weeks and months that followed the pews filled with people who had been there for generations and those who had never been to church before. Together they worshiped and prayed and the church experienced a renewal of faith and vitality as different people came together to break bread, care for each other, and be God's people. Revitalized by those who had joined them, the little church finally began to answer God's call.
Peter Andrew Smith is an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada who currently serves at St. James United Church in Antigonish, Nova Scotia. He is the author of All Things Are Ready (CSS), a book of lectionary-based communion prayers, as well as many stories and articles, which can be found listed at www.peterandrewsmith.com.
Nathanael
by Larry Winebrenner
John 1:43-51
Miriam held the newborn child to her breast.
"He's a gift from God," she told her husband, Jonathan.
"Then that's what we'll name him -- Nathanael. That means 'Gift from God.' "
So the child was Nathanael bar-yonathan, Nathanael, son of Jonathan for fathers always named their children -- especially their sons. A wife might suggest, a husband might listen to her, but he had to make the choice.
Being the gift of God, Nathanael tried to live up to his name. A gift from God would know God's covenant, so Nathanael studied the scriptures. Some whispered he knew the scriptures better than the elders that quizzed him at his bar mitzvah.
God's gift should be wise, so Nathanael listened carefully to claims made by others, even his brother Philip. Yes, and the outrageous claims of his friend Simon.
"Jonah -- that was Simon's father, but it was customary for children to address their parents by name except in the most formal setting -- Jonah netted one hundred fish last night. In one haul," Simon would add gleefully.
Nathanael would simply say, "I'd like to see that," not as an item of interest but as a means of confirmation. Nobody caught one hundred fish in one net. That was ridiculous. Later, Nathanael was going to be the most surprised witness of a fishing miracle.
There was a large fig tree behind Jonathan's cottage. The kids in the neighborhood loved to climb its sprawling branches, especially during fig season. They would fill many containers with figs for Miriam, but she could dry only so many and could press only so many fig cakes. She could only sell so many in the marketplace filled with housewives selling figs.
As they picked figs, and after they had finished picking as many as Miriam could use, they would bite the stem off the fig. They would pop the luscious fruit in their mouths and crunch the tiny seeds as they chewed the delicious meat of the fig. Sometimes Philip's belly would protrude like he'd swallowed a melon.
Not Nathanael. Scholars, philosophers, scribes would sit under the comfortable shade of the fig tree. It was their sanctuary. So, Nathanael also sat, sometimes meditating, sometimes reading, sometimes praying.
Nathanael did this as a boy. He did it as a young man. He was doing it, just mumbling, "Lord, if you want me, want me for anything, show yourself to..." as Philip came racing toward him, shouting.
Nathanael jumped to his feet. "What's wrong?" he cried.
"Nothing's wrong," Philip rasped through panting breath. "We've found him!"
"Found him," said a puzzled Nathanael. "Who was lost? Who did you find?"
Poor Philip did not have the religious knowledge his brother had and he dare not startle his brother by announcing "Messiah." He mumbled, "The one Moses mentions. The one the prophets wrote about...."
"You found him where? Where's he from?" Nathanael wanted to search his knowledge. He knew where the Messiah was supposed to come from. Bethlehem. That was the testing point.
"He's the son of Joseph, the carpenter," said Philip.
"Carpenter? Not priest? Not even the self-righteous Pharisee? Carpenter?"
Nathanael was startled at his brother's naivety. But his brother's next announcement was startling. "He's from Nazareth."
Nathanael shook his head. He looked with pity on his brother. First a carpenter and now a jerkwater town that even a thirsty camel would not stop in.
In a muted voice he asked, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"
Philip knew he had no chance debating with his more knowledgeable, more eloquent brother. But Jesus could.
"Come and see for yourself," he told Nathanael. "If you don't agree, I'll never mention this again."
His meditation had already been disturbed, so he clasped his brother with his smooth scholar's hand and said, "Sure Phil. Show me your Messiah. I've long wanted to meet the guy."
Philip looked at his brother. You always had to prove things to him. He was as straight as a Roman soldier's spear. But he had never been sarcastic before. They walked in silence.
Jesus noticed the young man striding toward him, virtually dragging Philip rather than the other way around. Here was one who knew where he was going and was aware exactly of what he wanted to know.
"Ah," he said, "an Israelite who is not deceitful."
Nathanael stopped short. "So, you know me," he said doubtfully. "How did that happen?"
Jesus looked at his scholar's robe. He observed the hands without calluses found on Andrew's and Simon's, and the Boanerges sons' hands. A searching gaze was behind the belligerent tone.
"I saw you under the fig tree. Before Philip went to get you," Jesus told him.
Nathanael's mouth dropped open. Show yourself he thought. Philip was right. He didn't have to quiz this man, this teacher. "Teacher, you are the Son of God! You are the king of Israel!"
Jesus looked into the young man's eyes -- deep into his soul. There was a meeting of minds. He answered Nathanael, "Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You'll see greater things than these. Here's what you'll see. You'll see heaven opened. You'll see the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man."
And oh the joy that filled Nathanael's soul.
How Many Thoughts
by Larry Winebrenner
Psalm 139:17-18a
Little Paul was playing in the sand next to Granddaddy. He addressed the elder man without looking up. With his left hand he would scoop up a handful of dry sand. Most of it filtered through his fingers. He dug through the dry sand to the damp clumps underneath. That wet stuff didn't slip through his figures.
"Granddaddy," he said, still not looking up. "God's pretty smart."
His revelry interrupted, Granddaddy observed, "He sure is. Why do you say that?"
"Daddy says he sees me all the time."
Little Paul continued playing, dry sand through fingers of the left hand, a handful of wet sand tossed a few inches up with right and caught. "Does that bother you?" asked the man.
"No," said Little Paul. "It's kinda good."
"Good?"
Little Paul tossed the sand on the ground and brushed his hands together. A screeching gull flew over and he looked up at the bird and then at Granddaddy.
"God makes the birds too," he said. Then he remembered Granddaddy's question. "Yeah. God's always there, no matter what. If I sit here, whether you're here or not, God's here. If I lie down in the sand and cover myself up. God's there. If I go swimming, God's there."
Granddaddy ruffled Little Paul's hair. The boy ducked. He didn't like that. Why did grown ups always do that? Granddaddy smiled and spoke. "You're quite the theologian," he said.
"I don't know what the theo-whatever is, but I don't understand," Little Paul said.
"You don't understand," repeated Granddaddy.
"That's what I said," spouted Little Paul.
"Understand what?"
"Oh Granddaddy," complained Little Paul. "How can God know everything I do and what my friend Jerry does at the same time? Jerry's home. I'm here."
Granddaddy rubbed his chin. He felt the bristles. He forgot to shave again this morning. He sometimes wondered like Little Paul. But he should try to explain.
"Air is everywhere," he suggested.
"Not under water," countered Little Paul.
Granddaddy rubbed his whiskers again. He breathed in the air. Beaches smelled differently from town. Not so much exhaust fumes. Sometimes a little fishy or like seaweed but always fresh. Natural.
He asked, "Maybe more like noise?"
"Well, noise can't hear," answered Little Paul. "But maybe, kinda like that."
"Maybe, kinda like thoughts." suggested Granddaddy. "You can think about something on the other side of the world, like a kangaroo and almost immediately think of your favorite cat at home."
"Yeah!" shouted Little Paul. "God thinks about everything we do. And God thinks about all the people in the world. But that's my problem. Can God think of all those things at the same time?"
Instead of answering Little Paul, Granddaddy looked down at the sand, hoping to see a small container of some kind. The iridescent hues of a sea shell caught his eye. That was too large. Then he spied a small bottle cap. He picked it up full of sand and handed it to Little Paul.
Little Paul took it gingerly and held it carefully in the palm of his hand. He looked at it a moment and asked, "Why did you give me this, Granddaddy?"
The old man asked, "If you had a large smooth table and poured that sand on the table, how long would it take you to spread the grains out and count them all?"
"I can't do that!" exclaimed Little Paul. "I don't think I can count that high."
"Suppose I asked you to count every grain of sand on this beach."
"Granddaddy, that would take a million years. I won't live that long."
"Then I won't ask you to do it, Little Paul. You asked me if God could think of all the people in the world," consoled Granddaddy. "Your answer is in the Bible. One of the Psalms says this: 'How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! I try to count them -- they are more than the sand.' Does that answer your question?"
"Yessir," muttered Little Paul and he ran down to the water to wade. Looking at the waves and the vastness of the ocean, Little Paul murmured, "I hope Granddaddy doesn't ask me to count the drops of water in the ocean. I bet God's thoughts are that many too."
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.
*****************************************
StoryShare, January 15, 2012, issue.
Copyright 2012 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
