So What Is It Anyway?
Stories
Object:
Contents
"So What Is It Anyway?" by Frank Ramirez
"A Man Ready to Go Home" by John Sumwalt
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So What Is It Anyway?
by Frank Ramirez
Exodus 16:2-15
When the Israelites saw (the manna), they said to one another, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was.
-- Exodus 16:15
The people of God were given the manna in the desert. The Hebrew word is Min Ha, which is actually a question! Translated, it means: "What is it?" How many times has that question been asked by inventers as they made a great discovery? It was certainly asked on April 6, 1932 at the DuPont's Jackson Laboratory in Deepwater, New Jersey.
Roy J. Plunkett was working with gasses on his first assignment with the company. One of those gasses was Freon, which in those days was used in refrigerators. Plunkett and his assistant Jack Rebok were testing the gas under various conditions when they made a mistake. When they opened a cylinder of the gas it did not discharge as they were led to expect. They set that cylinder aside until they could get a better look.
Later Plunkett picked up the cylinder. It was heavier than he thought it ought to be. With a little trepidation he wondered if it might explode. Taking a chance he opened it -- and discovered a solid white substance inside. Curious, he began some testing. The more Plunkett tested the substance, the more surprised he was by its properties. It didn't react with chemicals. It retained its properties whether subjected to 500 degrees below zero or 400 above. Vacuum had no effect (which meant decades later it would be perfect for use in a space environment).
He might well have asked, "What is it?" What it was, was PTEE, polytetrafluorethylene. What it came to be known as was Teflon.
Since its discovery over two and a half billion pounds of it have been sold. It has been used to keep the Statue of Liberty from rusting, in cardiac medicine, to coat electrical wires and light bulbs -- and of course in pots and pans because of its no-stick qualities. Plunkett later admitted he'd been lucky -- the stuff could have exploded with disastrous effect. But there was also a touch of brilliance -- he and his assistant were sowing many scientific seeds and were looking with an inquiring eye to see what turned up! And something turned up.
If we in the stewardship of our gifts from God only channel our energies into safe, tried and true channels, we may not be witness to the kind of serendipitous miracles that occur when we're trying new things. We need to be open to new possibilities and to trust the gifts that God rains down on us from above.
Jesus spoke about the sower and the seed and how the seed that fell on fertile soil bore fruit thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold. Doing things well might bear fruit in ways you never imagined. And sometimes when you hold that fruit in your hand, you ask, "Min ha?" "What is it?"
What it is, is a gift from God.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
A Man Ready to Go Home
by John Sumwalt
Philippians 1:21-30
For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer.
-- Philippians 1:21-22
There have been moments in my life when I hurt so much that the thought of dying was more than appealing. Dying would have been easier than living. My pain was not physical, though it took a physical as well as psychological toll on my whole being. Post-traumatic stress is what my therapist called it, excruciating pain from abuse incidents in my adolescence that I had repressed for over thirty years.
In time I learned to recognize the triggers and now can usually avoid them, but not always. The days and sometimes weeks of aching darkness, mind and body numbing depression, that I endured for several years have passed.
Prayer, therapy, medication, gardening and other physical work, writing, even a mystical experience in which something like liquid love flowed into my body, have made that time in my life feel far away, much like I imagine a woman's memory of labor pains fade over time. Still, every once in a while a scene in a movie, the wrong kind of touch, certain sounds and smells, a photograph from the past, any reminder of being abused, will, like the proverbial hand from the grave, pull me back into the pain for a few hours or days.
I never contemplated suicide. I loved my family too much and I loved life to much to give it up easily. I do not fault those who, overwhelmed by pain and despair, have made the decision to cross themselves over to the other side. I have officiated at their funerals and cried with their loved ones. It helps a little that I have looked into the abyss. It helps that I know Christ is with them in that other dimension as he has always been here with me.
It helps that I understand my suffering as a strange kind of blessing. Like the apostle Paul's "thorn in the flesh" my periodic affliction reminds me that God's "grace is sufficient" and makes it possible for me to walk with those who are treading a similar path (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).
I look for words of assurance to give them but there are no adequate words. My presence in body and spirit is the best I have to give -- and sometimes a bit of the story of my own journey through the valley of the shadow.
As a pastor I have to decide when my personal story will be helpful and how much of it to tell. I don't need to tell it anymore, so choosing to tell it is a carefully calculated choice and one that I don't always get right.
It is safer to tell other people's stories, as you may choose to tell mine instead of your own, especially from the pulpit where I statements are best used judiciously lest our sermons become more about us than the one who saves.
I have been touched by Johnny Cash's story and plan to tell some of it again this Sunday.
After the singer's death in September of 2003, Ted Olsen wrote in Christianity Today about a time in Cash's career when his use of barbiturates and amphetamines nearly destroyed him. "Though he'd professed Christ at age 12, Cash wrote that by 1967, 'There was nothing left of me. I had drifted so far away from God and every stabilizing force in my life that I felt there was no hope.' He decided to crawl into Nickajack Cave on the Tennessee River, get lost, and die. 'The absolute lack of light was appropriate,' he wrote. 'My separation from Him, the deepest and most ravaging of the various kinds of loneliness I'd felt over the years, seemed finally complete. It wasn't. I thought I'd left Him, but He hadn't left me. I felt something very powerful start to happen to me, a sensation of utter peace, clarity, and sobriety. Then my mind started focusing on God. He didn't speak to me -- He never has, and I'll be surprised if He ever does -- but... I became conscious of a very clear, simple idea: I was not in charge of my own destiny. I was not in charge of my own death.' " (Ted Olsen, "Johnny Cash's Song of Redemption," Christianity Today, November 1, 2003)
Johnny found his way out of that dark cave determined to get clean and sober. His wife, June Carter, and his mother were standing there waiting for him when he came out. But the world weariness that so many millions of fans came to love in Cash's voice never left him.
On the Rolling Stone Music site there is a review of Cash's first album after he was diagnosed with a neurological disorder in 1997. It says he "... had a new vulnerability in his voice." It calls his cut of the eighteenth-century ballad Wayfaring Stranger "... downright spooky: When he sings, 'There's no sickness, toil nor danger in that bright land to which I go,' he sounds like a man ready to go home."
(http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-best-albums-of-the-2000s-201...)
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord’s United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don’t Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 18, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"So What Is It Anyway?" by Frank Ramirez
"A Man Ready to Go Home" by John Sumwalt
* * * * * * * *
So What Is It Anyway?
by Frank Ramirez
Exodus 16:2-15
When the Israelites saw (the manna), they said to one another, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was.
-- Exodus 16:15
The people of God were given the manna in the desert. The Hebrew word is Min Ha, which is actually a question! Translated, it means: "What is it?" How many times has that question been asked by inventers as they made a great discovery? It was certainly asked on April 6, 1932 at the DuPont's Jackson Laboratory in Deepwater, New Jersey.
Roy J. Plunkett was working with gasses on his first assignment with the company. One of those gasses was Freon, which in those days was used in refrigerators. Plunkett and his assistant Jack Rebok were testing the gas under various conditions when they made a mistake. When they opened a cylinder of the gas it did not discharge as they were led to expect. They set that cylinder aside until they could get a better look.
Later Plunkett picked up the cylinder. It was heavier than he thought it ought to be. With a little trepidation he wondered if it might explode. Taking a chance he opened it -- and discovered a solid white substance inside. Curious, he began some testing. The more Plunkett tested the substance, the more surprised he was by its properties. It didn't react with chemicals. It retained its properties whether subjected to 500 degrees below zero or 400 above. Vacuum had no effect (which meant decades later it would be perfect for use in a space environment).
He might well have asked, "What is it?" What it was, was PTEE, polytetrafluorethylene. What it came to be known as was Teflon.
Since its discovery over two and a half billion pounds of it have been sold. It has been used to keep the Statue of Liberty from rusting, in cardiac medicine, to coat electrical wires and light bulbs -- and of course in pots and pans because of its no-stick qualities. Plunkett later admitted he'd been lucky -- the stuff could have exploded with disastrous effect. But there was also a touch of brilliance -- he and his assistant were sowing many scientific seeds and were looking with an inquiring eye to see what turned up! And something turned up.
If we in the stewardship of our gifts from God only channel our energies into safe, tried and true channels, we may not be witness to the kind of serendipitous miracles that occur when we're trying new things. We need to be open to new possibilities and to trust the gifts that God rains down on us from above.
Jesus spoke about the sower and the seed and how the seed that fell on fertile soil bore fruit thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold. Doing things well might bear fruit in ways you never imagined. And sometimes when you hold that fruit in your hand, you ask, "Min ha?" "What is it?"
What it is, is a gift from God.
Frank Ramirez has served as a pastor for nearly 30 years in Church of the Brethren congregations in Los Angeles, California; Elkhart, Indiana; and Everett, Pennsylvania. A graduate of LaVerne College and Bethany Theological Seminary, Ramirez is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories. His CSS titles include Partners in Healing, He Took a Towel, The Bee Attitudes, and three volumes of Lectionary Worship Aids.
A Man Ready to Go Home
by John Sumwalt
Philippians 1:21-30
For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer.
-- Philippians 1:21-22
There have been moments in my life when I hurt so much that the thought of dying was more than appealing. Dying would have been easier than living. My pain was not physical, though it took a physical as well as psychological toll on my whole being. Post-traumatic stress is what my therapist called it, excruciating pain from abuse incidents in my adolescence that I had repressed for over thirty years.
In time I learned to recognize the triggers and now can usually avoid them, but not always. The days and sometimes weeks of aching darkness, mind and body numbing depression, that I endured for several years have passed.
Prayer, therapy, medication, gardening and other physical work, writing, even a mystical experience in which something like liquid love flowed into my body, have made that time in my life feel far away, much like I imagine a woman's memory of labor pains fade over time. Still, every once in a while a scene in a movie, the wrong kind of touch, certain sounds and smells, a photograph from the past, any reminder of being abused, will, like the proverbial hand from the grave, pull me back into the pain for a few hours or days.
I never contemplated suicide. I loved my family too much and I loved life to much to give it up easily. I do not fault those who, overwhelmed by pain and despair, have made the decision to cross themselves over to the other side. I have officiated at their funerals and cried with their loved ones. It helps a little that I have looked into the abyss. It helps that I know Christ is with them in that other dimension as he has always been here with me.
It helps that I understand my suffering as a strange kind of blessing. Like the apostle Paul's "thorn in the flesh" my periodic affliction reminds me that God's "grace is sufficient" and makes it possible for me to walk with those who are treading a similar path (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).
I look for words of assurance to give them but there are no adequate words. My presence in body and spirit is the best I have to give -- and sometimes a bit of the story of my own journey through the valley of the shadow.
As a pastor I have to decide when my personal story will be helpful and how much of it to tell. I don't need to tell it anymore, so choosing to tell it is a carefully calculated choice and one that I don't always get right.
It is safer to tell other people's stories, as you may choose to tell mine instead of your own, especially from the pulpit where I statements are best used judiciously lest our sermons become more about us than the one who saves.
I have been touched by Johnny Cash's story and plan to tell some of it again this Sunday.
After the singer's death in September of 2003, Ted Olsen wrote in Christianity Today about a time in Cash's career when his use of barbiturates and amphetamines nearly destroyed him. "Though he'd professed Christ at age 12, Cash wrote that by 1967, 'There was nothing left of me. I had drifted so far away from God and every stabilizing force in my life that I felt there was no hope.' He decided to crawl into Nickajack Cave on the Tennessee River, get lost, and die. 'The absolute lack of light was appropriate,' he wrote. 'My separation from Him, the deepest and most ravaging of the various kinds of loneliness I'd felt over the years, seemed finally complete. It wasn't. I thought I'd left Him, but He hadn't left me. I felt something very powerful start to happen to me, a sensation of utter peace, clarity, and sobriety. Then my mind started focusing on God. He didn't speak to me -- He never has, and I'll be surprised if He ever does -- but... I became conscious of a very clear, simple idea: I was not in charge of my own destiny. I was not in charge of my own death.' " (Ted Olsen, "Johnny Cash's Song of Redemption," Christianity Today, November 1, 2003)
Johnny found his way out of that dark cave determined to get clean and sober. His wife, June Carter, and his mother were standing there waiting for him when he came out. But the world weariness that so many millions of fans came to love in Cash's voice never left him.
On the Rolling Stone Music site there is a review of Cash's first album after he was diagnosed with a neurological disorder in 1997. It says he "... had a new vulnerability in his voice." It calls his cut of the eighteenth-century ballad Wayfaring Stranger "... downright spooky: When he sings, 'There's no sickness, toil nor danger in that bright land to which I go,' he sounds like a man ready to go home."
(http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-best-albums-of-the-2000s-201...)
John Sumwalt is the pastor of Our Lord’s United Methodist Church in New Berlin, Wisconsin, and a noted storyteller in the Milwaukee area. He is the author of nine books, including the acclaimed Vision Stories series and How to Preach the Miracles: Why People Don’t Believe Them and What You Can Do About It. John and his wife Jo Perry-Sumwalt served for three years as the co-editors of StoryShare. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary (UDTS), Sumwalt received the Herbert Manning Jr. award for parish ministry from UDTS in 1997.
*****************************************
StoryShare, September 18, 2011, issue.
Copyright 2011 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
