The Serpent…
Stories
Contents
“The Serpent…” by Keith Hewitt
“Looking Into the Shadows” by C. David McKirachan
The Serpent…
by Keith Hewitt
Numbers 21:4-9
Fire, Ruben decided.
If one could somehow catch fire in a bottle, then empty that bottle into an open wound so that the fire could flow throughout the body, it would feel like this.
If he had been awake at the first stab of pain — no, agony — when the snake slithered under the blanket and bit his leg, he might have had a chance. If his mind had not been clouded by the twin distractions of pain and lingering slumber, he might have remembered his grandfather’s tale about being bitten on the hand by a snake, in time to tie a rope around his own leg and cinch it down tight, so that the fire would be contained to one limb just as his grandfather had done with his arm. It was a story the old man had told often, painting vivid word pictures as he waved the stump of his left arm for visual emphasis.
But too late, now.
Ruben stared up at the hard blue sky, eyes slitted against the pain, and contemplated death. It was not the first time: often, during their months of seemingly aimless wandering in the wilderness, he had faced starvation or dehydration along with the rest of the tribes of Israel and had hoped only that death would come swiftly if it was coming. Instead, a series of improbable events had gotten them this far — manna, like bread from the sky; water from rocks; birds to feed the multitudes every day. Surely, God had saved them each time.
But only so that it would end this way?
To be “freed” from Egypt by a series of disasters, hounded by the Egyptian army, only to find death at the hands of the wilderness itself…it made no sense at all. A loving, just God would not let it end this way.
His heart was pounding, now, and the sky seemed to be getting darker. Writhing at the rivers of fire coursing through his body, Ruben clenched his fists and thought, What had Moses said? He had said something about the snakes. He raised his fists, pounded them on the dirt beneath until the pain in his bloodied hands now distracted him from the venom’s fire.
The snake — the bronze snake! The recollection seemed distant, though it was only days old, and in the midst of the fire inside, Ruben felt a sudden chill: it was getting harder to think, harder to remember. He had been unconscious, once — the result of a childhood accident — and it had felt like this as the darkness crept over him. No! he thought, Not today! for he had the feeling that if the darkness took him this time it would never let him go.
Look toward the center of the camp… the bronze snake on the pole erected by Moses. It will cure you! Or so he remembered… what if this was just a fanciful dream brought on by the venom robbing him of consciousness? He lay still for a moment, contemplating the question, then shook his head violently to clear away both the darkness and the uncertainty. Involuntarily, his body shook as well.
“Venom,” he muttered through clenched teeth, and contemplated the impossible. Standing and walking was out of the question. If he was going to move, it would have to be a crawl. Can you even crawl? he wondered, then shrugged. If you don’t, you’re going to die. There is no one here to see you. Live or die, it’s your journey.
“Live!” he grunted, scarcely audible. His muscles seemed indifferent to the commands he was sending them, at first, but then he began to rock back and forth on the ground, finally had enough momentum that he could use his arms to turn himself onto his stomach. He rested briefly, face in the dirt, then began to clumsily move arms and legs in something that approximated a crawl.
He was almost surprised when he began to inch forward.
Pausing frequently, then, he inched his way around the front of the tent to the side, then down the side to the back of the tent. Chest heaving — fighting both the venom that sought to paralyze his lungs and the poisons of fatigue that coursed through him as he crawled — he turned and crawled down an open space between the two tents that had been set up behind his.
It was a journey of inches separated by minutes, or so it seemed. At last, though, he reached the end of that passage and found himself at the edge of the center of camp… unable to raise his head. So are you going to die this way, face in the dirt when salvation is right there? Grimly, he shook his head and began to rock again — this time finally rolling over onto his side, so he could tilt his head back and gaze at the bronze serpent coiled around the top of the pole at the center of the camp.
The snake glinted in the sunlight, and he began to weep as he could feel the fire in his veins start to quench, the pain slowly fading. His breath came more easily, now, and he took a deep breath, then another, and almost laughed with relief before he closed his eyes and let his head hang for a moment. “I thank you, Lord,” he whispered, “but tell me — why must our journey to find salvation from what seeks to kill us be so hard? Why can’t your healing grace come to us?” Then, silently, he opened his eyes and looked at the bronze snake on the pole as though half expecting it to answer… It didn’t.
He would never know that the answer would come more than a thousand years hence, at a place called Golgotha.
* * *
Looking Into the Shadows
by C. David McKirachan
John 3:14-21
Did you ever get bitten by a snake? Few of us have been, but the tales that have come from others are reason enough to help us understand the general fear of how this attack and defense mechanism of that reptile are generally feared.
I was a kid, five or six, and had gone with a few of my aunts to the upper hay field next to my cousin Bud’s place to mow in preparation for the bailer. We’d taken a break. I considered it a picnic. No sandwiches, Grandma didn’t allow them. But we had some other food and drink, and we were eating it on the ground. Thus, a picnic. Aunt Ida suddenly yelled, “Copperhead!” Not as infamous as the rattler, but as deadly, and considerably sneakier, and this one full of intent. Aunt Alice moved faster than I could see, was on the tractor, got it started, in gear and over that snake before it knew she was coming. There was no yelling or screaming. Lunch was packed up and we went back to work. Business as usual. But I spent the afternoon on the tractor with Aunt Alice.
Lent is designed to help us investigate the shadows, places where we have followed our habits rather than our Lord. Habits of embarrassment, rather than reaching out with a helping hand. Habits of financial responsibility rather than generosity. Habits of witnessing someone’s loneliness from a safe distance because they are another race. These habits are shadows, where the love of God is not working through us. It’s been said that the only difference between the ruts of habit and the grave is depth. His passage about salvation has become a tennis ball, swatted back and forth between conflicting opinions. What exactly is salvation? How do we get it?
The people of Israel were in the desert, following Moses. But their sense of freedom was tenuous. They had Moses to lead them, they had God’s law to guide them, but their habits were: masters to tell them what to do, a dependable food supply, and gods that were visible and touchable. In the wilderness, they had to make up their own minds. They had to have faith. And now they had snakes. God didn’t prevent them from getting bitten by snakes. But God gave them a sign that the Lord would provide.
Life’s like that. We want something to solve our problems, to protect us. But life is going to bite us, in spite of our relationship with God. Many of us blame the bites on our inability to follow Christ’s way. But if we look at true believers, witnesses, saints, we see that their lives weren’t easy. In many ways their faith got them in trouble. But Jesus promised us that this God who made us and now came here to walk among us would give us a sign to follow. He promised that he would demonstrate God’s love on the cross to show us how much God loves us, in spite of the snake bites, in spite of the shadows, in spite of the habits that keep us from shining with God’s light. Of all the crazy ways to demonstrate love. God wanted the people of Israel to be free and wants us to be free. It may not be the way we’d do it. I don’t know about you, but I’m not God. This is God’s method. Love.
That day in the upper hay field never seemed traumatic to me. I remember how much my family cared about and for me, and I remember how neat it was to ride around on the tractor all day. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been afraid of snakes. Are you?
*****************************************
StoryShare, March 14, 2021 issue.
Copyright 2021 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.
“The Serpent…” by Keith Hewitt
“Looking Into the Shadows” by C. David McKirachan
The Serpent…
by Keith Hewitt
Numbers 21:4-9
Fire, Ruben decided.
If one could somehow catch fire in a bottle, then empty that bottle into an open wound so that the fire could flow throughout the body, it would feel like this.
If he had been awake at the first stab of pain — no, agony — when the snake slithered under the blanket and bit his leg, he might have had a chance. If his mind had not been clouded by the twin distractions of pain and lingering slumber, he might have remembered his grandfather’s tale about being bitten on the hand by a snake, in time to tie a rope around his own leg and cinch it down tight, so that the fire would be contained to one limb just as his grandfather had done with his arm. It was a story the old man had told often, painting vivid word pictures as he waved the stump of his left arm for visual emphasis.
But too late, now.
Ruben stared up at the hard blue sky, eyes slitted against the pain, and contemplated death. It was not the first time: often, during their months of seemingly aimless wandering in the wilderness, he had faced starvation or dehydration along with the rest of the tribes of Israel and had hoped only that death would come swiftly if it was coming. Instead, a series of improbable events had gotten them this far — manna, like bread from the sky; water from rocks; birds to feed the multitudes every day. Surely, God had saved them each time.
But only so that it would end this way?
To be “freed” from Egypt by a series of disasters, hounded by the Egyptian army, only to find death at the hands of the wilderness itself…it made no sense at all. A loving, just God would not let it end this way.
His heart was pounding, now, and the sky seemed to be getting darker. Writhing at the rivers of fire coursing through his body, Ruben clenched his fists and thought, What had Moses said? He had said something about the snakes. He raised his fists, pounded them on the dirt beneath until the pain in his bloodied hands now distracted him from the venom’s fire.
The snake — the bronze snake! The recollection seemed distant, though it was only days old, and in the midst of the fire inside, Ruben felt a sudden chill: it was getting harder to think, harder to remember. He had been unconscious, once — the result of a childhood accident — and it had felt like this as the darkness crept over him. No! he thought, Not today! for he had the feeling that if the darkness took him this time it would never let him go.
Look toward the center of the camp… the bronze snake on the pole erected by Moses. It will cure you! Or so he remembered… what if this was just a fanciful dream brought on by the venom robbing him of consciousness? He lay still for a moment, contemplating the question, then shook his head violently to clear away both the darkness and the uncertainty. Involuntarily, his body shook as well.
“Venom,” he muttered through clenched teeth, and contemplated the impossible. Standing and walking was out of the question. If he was going to move, it would have to be a crawl. Can you even crawl? he wondered, then shrugged. If you don’t, you’re going to die. There is no one here to see you. Live or die, it’s your journey.
“Live!” he grunted, scarcely audible. His muscles seemed indifferent to the commands he was sending them, at first, but then he began to rock back and forth on the ground, finally had enough momentum that he could use his arms to turn himself onto his stomach. He rested briefly, face in the dirt, then began to clumsily move arms and legs in something that approximated a crawl.
He was almost surprised when he began to inch forward.
Pausing frequently, then, he inched his way around the front of the tent to the side, then down the side to the back of the tent. Chest heaving — fighting both the venom that sought to paralyze his lungs and the poisons of fatigue that coursed through him as he crawled — he turned and crawled down an open space between the two tents that had been set up behind his.
It was a journey of inches separated by minutes, or so it seemed. At last, though, he reached the end of that passage and found himself at the edge of the center of camp… unable to raise his head. So are you going to die this way, face in the dirt when salvation is right there? Grimly, he shook his head and began to rock again — this time finally rolling over onto his side, so he could tilt his head back and gaze at the bronze serpent coiled around the top of the pole at the center of the camp.
The snake glinted in the sunlight, and he began to weep as he could feel the fire in his veins start to quench, the pain slowly fading. His breath came more easily, now, and he took a deep breath, then another, and almost laughed with relief before he closed his eyes and let his head hang for a moment. “I thank you, Lord,” he whispered, “but tell me — why must our journey to find salvation from what seeks to kill us be so hard? Why can’t your healing grace come to us?” Then, silently, he opened his eyes and looked at the bronze snake on the pole as though half expecting it to answer… It didn’t.
He would never know that the answer would come more than a thousand years hence, at a place called Golgotha.
* * *
Looking Into the Shadows
by C. David McKirachan
John 3:14-21
Did you ever get bitten by a snake? Few of us have been, but the tales that have come from others are reason enough to help us understand the general fear of how this attack and defense mechanism of that reptile are generally feared.
I was a kid, five or six, and had gone with a few of my aunts to the upper hay field next to my cousin Bud’s place to mow in preparation for the bailer. We’d taken a break. I considered it a picnic. No sandwiches, Grandma didn’t allow them. But we had some other food and drink, and we were eating it on the ground. Thus, a picnic. Aunt Ida suddenly yelled, “Copperhead!” Not as infamous as the rattler, but as deadly, and considerably sneakier, and this one full of intent. Aunt Alice moved faster than I could see, was on the tractor, got it started, in gear and over that snake before it knew she was coming. There was no yelling or screaming. Lunch was packed up and we went back to work. Business as usual. But I spent the afternoon on the tractor with Aunt Alice.
Lent is designed to help us investigate the shadows, places where we have followed our habits rather than our Lord. Habits of embarrassment, rather than reaching out with a helping hand. Habits of financial responsibility rather than generosity. Habits of witnessing someone’s loneliness from a safe distance because they are another race. These habits are shadows, where the love of God is not working through us. It’s been said that the only difference between the ruts of habit and the grave is depth. His passage about salvation has become a tennis ball, swatted back and forth between conflicting opinions. What exactly is salvation? How do we get it?
The people of Israel were in the desert, following Moses. But their sense of freedom was tenuous. They had Moses to lead them, they had God’s law to guide them, but their habits were: masters to tell them what to do, a dependable food supply, and gods that were visible and touchable. In the wilderness, they had to make up their own minds. They had to have faith. And now they had snakes. God didn’t prevent them from getting bitten by snakes. But God gave them a sign that the Lord would provide.
Life’s like that. We want something to solve our problems, to protect us. But life is going to bite us, in spite of our relationship with God. Many of us blame the bites on our inability to follow Christ’s way. But if we look at true believers, witnesses, saints, we see that their lives weren’t easy. In many ways their faith got them in trouble. But Jesus promised us that this God who made us and now came here to walk among us would give us a sign to follow. He promised that he would demonstrate God’s love on the cross to show us how much God loves us, in spite of the snake bites, in spite of the shadows, in spite of the habits that keep us from shining with God’s light. Of all the crazy ways to demonstrate love. God wanted the people of Israel to be free and wants us to be free. It may not be the way we’d do it. I don’t know about you, but I’m not God. This is God’s method. Love.
That day in the upper hay field never seemed traumatic to me. I remember how much my family cared about and for me, and I remember how neat it was to ride around on the tractor all day. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been afraid of snakes. Are you?
*****************************************
StoryShare, March 14, 2021 issue.
Copyright 2021 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.
