Telling Personal Stories In Sermons
Stories
Object:
Contents
"Telling Personal Stories in Sermons" by John Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: "My Labyrinth Prayer" by Ann Watson Peterson
Good Stories: "Dog Days of the Soul" by John Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "Dark Night of the Soul"
Telling Personal Stories in Sermons
by John Sumwalt
There was a time when preachers were taught not to tell personal stories in their sermons. I remember being warned about this in one of my homiletics classes in seminary. At that time the rule of thumb was that the thoughtful preacher might tell an occasional personal story, but not often and certainly not one in which you make yourself the hero. After over 30 years of preaching, I am convinced that some judicious sharing of one's personal life is essential to good preaching. Ralph Waldo Emerson said as much in his address to a graduating class at Harvard Divinity School in the late 19th century:
The true preacher can be known by this, that he deals out to people his life - life passed through the fire of thought. But of the bad preacher, it could not be told from his sermon what age of the world he fell in; whether he had a father or a child; whether he was a freeholder or a pauper; whether he was a citizen or a countryman; or any other fact of his biography.
(from Selected Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, A Signet Classic, Published by the New American Library, New York, 1965)
In this week's StoryShare, Ann Watson Peterson spins a dramatic personal tale of her encounter with God during a Labyrinth walk. I have also included a sample of some of my own personal storytelling. Do those of you who are preachers tell personal stories in your sermons? Do those of you who listen to sermons in the pew appreciate hearing personal accounts served up as part of the sermon?
We are looking for personal stories for some of the upcoming issues of StoryShare. Do you have a good family story that always leaves them laughing at the family reunion? We are also looking for Easter sermons. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net (with StoryShare in the subject line).
Sharing Visions
My Labyrinth Prayer
by Ann Watson Peterson
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress...
Psalm 107:19
On a cold, snowy evening, I climbed the stairs of Calvary Presbyterian Church to walk the Labyrinth with members of my church. I had participated in Labyrinth walks on a number of occasions, and was excited about introducing this ancient spiritual practice to them. I had initiated this gathering, but as I walked up the slippery stairs and into the church, I just wanted to go home.
I greeted them, explained the history of the Labyrinth, what to expect once they entered the sanctuary, and that they were to remain silent throughout their walk. Then I was on my own. I wrestled with my own need to walk. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. My mind was swimming with so many life choices that I felt I couldn't possibly concentrate on communing with God in this sacred space. But somehow I found myself standing stocking-footed on the edge of the giant circular path, daring God to meet me there. My final gesture was to dump the weight of everything I was carrying onto God. "Here you go," I said. "You deal with this - I can't anymore." Then I stepped onto the Labyrinth.
My first few steps were difficult. I had trouble getting my bearings. As with other walks I had taken, I found I was being critical of whether I was "doing it right." But as I walked, I began to feel more centered and my breathing righted itself. I noticed that my feet had slowed their frantic pace and my hands became unclenched and hung loosely at my sides. I was ever more aware of my breathing - in, out, in, out. As the air filled my lungs, I sensed a peacefulness I had not expected. In my awareness, I felt something that was new and unsettling. I felt as if I was being encouraged by some unknown "something" to name my troubles. I wondered who was speaking to me in such an unfamiliar way. And then a feeling came to me, or better, a voice: a knowing. It came from beyond and deep within me. I knew, then, that it was God speaking to me through what I can only describe as a still, small voice. In a silent plea, I said, "I am so scared, so confused. I don't know what to do." I "heard" God respond, "Yes, you do ... you know exactly what to do. You just don't want to do it."
I continued to walk. "But I'm afraid," I said. God responded yet again, "You are courageous, Ann. You have been through more difficult things than this." I thought for a moment, and then said to the "knowing" inside of me, "But I don't think I can do this all by myself." And God said, "You don't have to worry, I'm here with you. You are never alone." A peace settled over me almost instantly. All the stress I felt during the day seemed to vanish. I was surprised to find that all through the conversation I had been walking, but was unaware of my own footsteps. I was in my body, but outside of it. My encounter with God was very real and tangible to me. I looked up to see that I had made it to the center of the Labyrinth, where spiritual travelers rest in God before beginning the journey back out again. I had walked to the very heart of the sacred path, the very heart of God. I sat silently in the center in a posture of utter receptivity and gratitude. I just rested with God, and in God. As bliss-filled as I was, I became aware that my journey was not yet over. I had been called to action; I had some business to attend to. I stood and began my walk back out. My troubled mind and heart were now inexplicably lighter and more free. But I found myself trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had I really just "talked" to God? Did God really "talk" to me? Within the last remnants of the profound interchange, God "spoke" once again. "Don't try so hard. Just trust and believe." I almost laughed out loud. I stepped off the Labyrinth confident of what I needed to do, knowing that God would companion me along the way. And no matter what the outcome, I was going to do God's bidding.
Ann Watson Peterson is working on a Master of Divinity degree at Garrett-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston, Illinois. She is a member of the United Methodist Church of Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. You may write to her at awp521@aol.com.
Good Stories
Dog Days of the Soul
by John Sumwalt
"And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God."
John 3:19-21
Have you ever been sitting in a lighted room at night, reading or talking, and suddenly have the lights go out? What's the first thing you say? Sometimes everyone says it together: "Who turned out the light?"
In this age of electricity, light is something we take for granted. Few of us ever experience total darkness. In the city, we have street lights which come on automatically as soon as it begins to get dark. In the country, most farms have a mercury vapor light that stays on all night for security reasons. Consequently, most of us never get a good look at the stars as we used to when all the lights went out at night.
Some of the soldiers who came back from the Persian Gulf War told about the absolute darkness they experienced in the desert. One soldier said, "The darkness on nights with no moon or star light was so total you could have been standing right next to someone and not known it."
This text from John's gospel is about darkness and light: "And this is the judgment," John says, "that the light has come into the world and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil."
Is it possible John is right, that we really love darkness rather than light?
We always light candles at the conclusion of our Christmas Eve services. We turn out all of the lights in the church sanctuary and we hold our candle flames up in the darkness as we sing "Silent Night." It is a mystical moment in which one's soul is warmed by a wondrous, transcendent grace. The light Christ brings into the world seems almost tangible. We can see it and feel it, and the truth to which the symbol points comes alive in our hearts. But then we go home and turn on the evening news and hear about drug deals, drive-by shootings, homelessness, unemployment, racism, ethnic cleansing, genocide, child abuse, rape, murder, and terrorist bombings. The evils of the world seem to overwhelm the light.
There is also the darkness in our own souls, in our families, our churches, our schools and workplaces in the form of broken relationships, hate, suspicion, gossip, innuendo, heartache, depression, and grief. Who turned out the light? John says we turn it out ourselves by our sin, by our evil deeds because we have "... loved darkness rather than light."
We cannot live without light. Light is something every living being has to have. Put a plant in a dark room and it will die or remain dormant until it is brought back into the light. We human beings can become depressed if we don't get enough sunlight. The technical name for this is Seasonal Affective Disorder or S.A.D. syndrome, and the cure is simply more light, either artificial or natural. There is something about the light.
Those of us who live in the Midwest and suffer the long, cold winters of this region often experience what we call cabin fever or winter blahs. It comes from a lack of social interaction. The remedy is to get together with other people and have some fun. Worship is as good an excuse as any other, maybe better.
Dog Days
This has been an especially harsh winter compared to most: record snowfalls, record cold and wind chill, record bouts with cold and flu viruses, pneumonia, and other diseases of winter. We have had more people in the hospital in our community this winter than usual, and more deaths.
I call this time we have just passed through, the 46 days between Groundhog Day and the first day of Spring, the dog days of winter. The dog days of summer come during the hot and sultry month of August - you know, when it is so hot and humid you don't have energy to do anything. What we have just had are the dog days of winter, when it is so cloudy, and so damp and dreary and cold, that you don't care whether you do anything - and you begin to wonder if the winter blahs are going to last forever.
Our family has been going through some dog days recently. We have decided to get a d-d-d-d-dog-g-g-g. This is quite a turnabout for old Dad, who has always been the one in the family who has said, "No dogs!" Suffice it to say that I have been outvoted. Now, don't misunderstand me, I like dogs. I grew up with dogs on the farm, which is a good place to have dogs. I've just never been sure that I would like to live with a dog in the house. Cats are a different matter. Jo and I had cats in the early days of our married life and enjoyed them very much. We got two cats from my folks, on the farm, about the time I started seminary. I thought they would be good company for Jo on the days, and some nights, while I was away at classes in Dubuque and she was home alone in the parsonage in Blue River.
That fall, when the weather turned cold, we started to notice mice around the house, and I began to grumble aloud in the presence of the cats, "What's the use of having cats if they don't keep mice out of the house?" One day, in utter frustration, I made a passing comment, again in the presence of both cats, that if they didn't start catching those mice I was going to start chopping their tails off an inch at a time. (I am really not this cruel - who knew the cats could understand English?)
The very next morning we were wakened by a commotion on the stairs that led up to our bedroom. Skitter, skitter, thump, thump. Skitter, skitter, thump, thump. Meow, Meow! It was our gray angora cat, Scratch, which was short for Beelzebub (we believed in giving our cats biblical names), and she had a big brown field mouse in her mouth. The poor mouse looked like the cat had been trying to lick him to death. He was sopping wet and very much alive. Scratch had clearly been playing with him for quite a while. She jumped up on to the bed with that mouse in her mouth and then let him go, as if to say it was our turn to play with him. The mouse ran across the bed covers and down onto the floor, and then climbed up the curtains on the window. Somehow we managed to catch both the mouse and the cat, and I took them down into the basement and carefully explained the facts of life about cats and mice.
Not more than two days later, our other cat, Maggie, which was short for Mary Magdalene (as I said, we believed in giving our cats religious names befitting their personalities), came into the family room carrying a live field mouse, and we went through the same thing all over again!
Anyway, we are going to get a dog. And the deal is that we are going to study all of the different breeds of dogs in the world and select one that best fits the needs of our family. The kids have been bringing home piles of dog books from the library, we've been talking to dog lovers, and Jo and I have been making secret visits to pet stores and kennels. We don't dare take the kids yet, because I know that the minute they see a cute puppy my dogless days are over. I figure this research and development phase ought to last two, maybe three years. But I may have miscalculated. Son Orrin has been making plans to con one of his grandfathers into building a doghouse. And last Saturday they all went out to a pet supply store and came home with a leash and a pooper scooper.
Ah, but the old man has one more ace in the hole. There is an understanding that we all have to agree on the kind of dog we finally decide to get. What are the chances of that? One member of our family, who shall remain nameless, has always wanted an Irish Setter, ever since she was a little girl way back in the 1950s. Another member of our family wants a Golden Retriever, I think perhaps to help her fetch cute boys. And the one who has been walking around with a leash in his hand, making plans for the doghouse, wants a Shar-Pei (you know, one of those wrinkly, crinkly Chinese dogs that looks like it's about 110 years old). And I want any kind of dog that will not shed hair on the couch, will not yip at me when I come home from work, and will not jump up and lick my face. I hate it when they do that.
So pray for us, especially if we ever do actually agree on what breed of dog to get. But, whatever you do, don't leave a puppy on our doorstep, because if you do I'll come over to your house and read what it says in Proverbs 26:17.
Like someone who takes a passing dog by the ears is one who meddles in the quarrels of another.
And if that has no effect, I'll say to you what the prophet Isaiah said to King Ahab:
Thus says the Lord, "In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will also lick up your blood."
You have been fairly warned.
Note: John shared this personal story about our dog search with the congregation at Wesley United Methodist Church in Kenosha, Wisconsin, in the winter of 1994. We adopted Eli, a West Highland Terrier (named for the priest who mentored Samuel), just after we moved to Wauwatosa in July of 1994. John and Eli are learning to live with each other.
John's Scrap Pile
Dark Night of the Soul
Laughter is one of the best cures for the winter blahs. It is one of the ways God lets light into our souls during the dog days of winter. But the dog days of the soul, the darkness we experience in the depth of our beings when we feel separated from the source of light, may require stronger medicine. Sometimes one can become so low, so depressed, that silliness and lighthearted fun cannot penetrate the darkness that engulfs the soul. If you have ever been melancholy or depressed you know what I am talking about. Most of us experience depression at one time or another during our lives. Sometimes it lasts for a long time, and you may wonder if you will ever feel lighthearted again.
There are many causes for depression. It is wise to consult a physician to rule out physiological causes. Your symptoms may be treatable with light, vitamins, or medication. It is also worth considering the possibility that God may be trying to tell you something. Your pain may be the beginning of a spiritual rebirth.
In her book Fire in the Soul, Joan Borysenko calls this unknown period "a necessary transition, like the transition period of labor, a natural process, not pathological." She says:
When our souls are on fire, old beliefs and opinions can be consumed, bringing us closer to our essential nature and to the heart of healing. These times of inner burning have been called dark nights of the soul. The Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross coined that term in the mid-1500s. He used it to designate that part of the spiritual journey during which we seem to lose our connection with an inner source of peace and instead confront our deepest fears and pains. St. John saw suffering as a "purgative" administered by the divine light to cleanse the soul of all residue that would keep it separate and alone.
(from Fire In the Soul, Warner Books, 1993)
It is terribly hard to cope when the light goes out of one's life.
John says, "Those who do what is true come to the light" (3:21).
It is up to us. We can receive the light into our lives or reject it. The light, which is our hope and salvation, is also a judgment. John says, "Those who believe in him are not condemned...." Indeed, he adds, "God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." For it is as John assures us in that familiar verse (3:16). Say it with me:
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
Eternal light!
StoryShare, March 30, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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 and in worship and classroom settings only. 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
"Telling Personal Stories in Sermons" by John Sumwalt
Sharing Visions: "My Labyrinth Prayer" by Ann Watson Peterson
Good Stories: "Dog Days of the Soul" by John Sumwalt
John's Scrap Pile: "Dark Night of the Soul"
Telling Personal Stories in Sermons
by John Sumwalt
There was a time when preachers were taught not to tell personal stories in their sermons. I remember being warned about this in one of my homiletics classes in seminary. At that time the rule of thumb was that the thoughtful preacher might tell an occasional personal story, but not often and certainly not one in which you make yourself the hero. After over 30 years of preaching, I am convinced that some judicious sharing of one's personal life is essential to good preaching. Ralph Waldo Emerson said as much in his address to a graduating class at Harvard Divinity School in the late 19th century:
The true preacher can be known by this, that he deals out to people his life - life passed through the fire of thought. But of the bad preacher, it could not be told from his sermon what age of the world he fell in; whether he had a father or a child; whether he was a freeholder or a pauper; whether he was a citizen or a countryman; or any other fact of his biography.
(from Selected Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, A Signet Classic, Published by the New American Library, New York, 1965)
In this week's StoryShare, Ann Watson Peterson spins a dramatic personal tale of her encounter with God during a Labyrinth walk. I have also included a sample of some of my own personal storytelling. Do those of you who are preachers tell personal stories in your sermons? Do those of you who listen to sermons in the pew appreciate hearing personal accounts served up as part of the sermon?
We are looking for personal stories for some of the upcoming issues of StoryShare. Do you have a good family story that always leaves them laughing at the family reunion? We are also looking for Easter sermons. Write to us at jsumwalt@naspa.net (with StoryShare in the subject line).
Sharing Visions
My Labyrinth Prayer
by Ann Watson Peterson
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress...
Psalm 107:19
On a cold, snowy evening, I climbed the stairs of Calvary Presbyterian Church to walk the Labyrinth with members of my church. I had participated in Labyrinth walks on a number of occasions, and was excited about introducing this ancient spiritual practice to them. I had initiated this gathering, but as I walked up the slippery stairs and into the church, I just wanted to go home.
I greeted them, explained the history of the Labyrinth, what to expect once they entered the sanctuary, and that they were to remain silent throughout their walk. Then I was on my own. I wrestled with my own need to walk. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. My mind was swimming with so many life choices that I felt I couldn't possibly concentrate on communing with God in this sacred space. But somehow I found myself standing stocking-footed on the edge of the giant circular path, daring God to meet me there. My final gesture was to dump the weight of everything I was carrying onto God. "Here you go," I said. "You deal with this - I can't anymore." Then I stepped onto the Labyrinth.
My first few steps were difficult. I had trouble getting my bearings. As with other walks I had taken, I found I was being critical of whether I was "doing it right." But as I walked, I began to feel more centered and my breathing righted itself. I noticed that my feet had slowed their frantic pace and my hands became unclenched and hung loosely at my sides. I was ever more aware of my breathing - in, out, in, out. As the air filled my lungs, I sensed a peacefulness I had not expected. In my awareness, I felt something that was new and unsettling. I felt as if I was being encouraged by some unknown "something" to name my troubles. I wondered who was speaking to me in such an unfamiliar way. And then a feeling came to me, or better, a voice: a knowing. It came from beyond and deep within me. I knew, then, that it was God speaking to me through what I can only describe as a still, small voice. In a silent plea, I said, "I am so scared, so confused. I don't know what to do." I "heard" God respond, "Yes, you do ... you know exactly what to do. You just don't want to do it."
I continued to walk. "But I'm afraid," I said. God responded yet again, "You are courageous, Ann. You have been through more difficult things than this." I thought for a moment, and then said to the "knowing" inside of me, "But I don't think I can do this all by myself." And God said, "You don't have to worry, I'm here with you. You are never alone." A peace settled over me almost instantly. All the stress I felt during the day seemed to vanish. I was surprised to find that all through the conversation I had been walking, but was unaware of my own footsteps. I was in my body, but outside of it. My encounter with God was very real and tangible to me. I looked up to see that I had made it to the center of the Labyrinth, where spiritual travelers rest in God before beginning the journey back out again. I had walked to the very heart of the sacred path, the very heart of God. I sat silently in the center in a posture of utter receptivity and gratitude. I just rested with God, and in God. As bliss-filled as I was, I became aware that my journey was not yet over. I had been called to action; I had some business to attend to. I stood and began my walk back out. My troubled mind and heart were now inexplicably lighter and more free. But I found myself trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had I really just "talked" to God? Did God really "talk" to me? Within the last remnants of the profound interchange, God "spoke" once again. "Don't try so hard. Just trust and believe." I almost laughed out loud. I stepped off the Labyrinth confident of what I needed to do, knowing that God would companion me along the way. And no matter what the outcome, I was going to do God's bidding.
Ann Watson Peterson is working on a Master of Divinity degree at Garrett-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston, Illinois. She is a member of the United Methodist Church of Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. You may write to her at awp521@aol.com.
Good Stories
Dog Days of the Soul
by John Sumwalt
"And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God."
John 3:19-21
Have you ever been sitting in a lighted room at night, reading or talking, and suddenly have the lights go out? What's the first thing you say? Sometimes everyone says it together: "Who turned out the light?"
In this age of electricity, light is something we take for granted. Few of us ever experience total darkness. In the city, we have street lights which come on automatically as soon as it begins to get dark. In the country, most farms have a mercury vapor light that stays on all night for security reasons. Consequently, most of us never get a good look at the stars as we used to when all the lights went out at night.
Some of the soldiers who came back from the Persian Gulf War told about the absolute darkness they experienced in the desert. One soldier said, "The darkness on nights with no moon or star light was so total you could have been standing right next to someone and not known it."
This text from John's gospel is about darkness and light: "And this is the judgment," John says, "that the light has come into the world and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil."
Is it possible John is right, that we really love darkness rather than light?
We always light candles at the conclusion of our Christmas Eve services. We turn out all of the lights in the church sanctuary and we hold our candle flames up in the darkness as we sing "Silent Night." It is a mystical moment in which one's soul is warmed by a wondrous, transcendent grace. The light Christ brings into the world seems almost tangible. We can see it and feel it, and the truth to which the symbol points comes alive in our hearts. But then we go home and turn on the evening news and hear about drug deals, drive-by shootings, homelessness, unemployment, racism, ethnic cleansing, genocide, child abuse, rape, murder, and terrorist bombings. The evils of the world seem to overwhelm the light.
There is also the darkness in our own souls, in our families, our churches, our schools and workplaces in the form of broken relationships, hate, suspicion, gossip, innuendo, heartache, depression, and grief. Who turned out the light? John says we turn it out ourselves by our sin, by our evil deeds because we have "... loved darkness rather than light."
We cannot live without light. Light is something every living being has to have. Put a plant in a dark room and it will die or remain dormant until it is brought back into the light. We human beings can become depressed if we don't get enough sunlight. The technical name for this is Seasonal Affective Disorder or S.A.D. syndrome, and the cure is simply more light, either artificial or natural. There is something about the light.
Those of us who live in the Midwest and suffer the long, cold winters of this region often experience what we call cabin fever or winter blahs. It comes from a lack of social interaction. The remedy is to get together with other people and have some fun. Worship is as good an excuse as any other, maybe better.
Dog Days
This has been an especially harsh winter compared to most: record snowfalls, record cold and wind chill, record bouts with cold and flu viruses, pneumonia, and other diseases of winter. We have had more people in the hospital in our community this winter than usual, and more deaths.
I call this time we have just passed through, the 46 days between Groundhog Day and the first day of Spring, the dog days of winter. The dog days of summer come during the hot and sultry month of August - you know, when it is so hot and humid you don't have energy to do anything. What we have just had are the dog days of winter, when it is so cloudy, and so damp and dreary and cold, that you don't care whether you do anything - and you begin to wonder if the winter blahs are going to last forever.
Our family has been going through some dog days recently. We have decided to get a d-d-d-d-dog-g-g-g. This is quite a turnabout for old Dad, who has always been the one in the family who has said, "No dogs!" Suffice it to say that I have been outvoted. Now, don't misunderstand me, I like dogs. I grew up with dogs on the farm, which is a good place to have dogs. I've just never been sure that I would like to live with a dog in the house. Cats are a different matter. Jo and I had cats in the early days of our married life and enjoyed them very much. We got two cats from my folks, on the farm, about the time I started seminary. I thought they would be good company for Jo on the days, and some nights, while I was away at classes in Dubuque and she was home alone in the parsonage in Blue River.
That fall, when the weather turned cold, we started to notice mice around the house, and I began to grumble aloud in the presence of the cats, "What's the use of having cats if they don't keep mice out of the house?" One day, in utter frustration, I made a passing comment, again in the presence of both cats, that if they didn't start catching those mice I was going to start chopping their tails off an inch at a time. (I am really not this cruel - who knew the cats could understand English?)
The very next morning we were wakened by a commotion on the stairs that led up to our bedroom. Skitter, skitter, thump, thump. Skitter, skitter, thump, thump. Meow, Meow! It was our gray angora cat, Scratch, which was short for Beelzebub (we believed in giving our cats biblical names), and she had a big brown field mouse in her mouth. The poor mouse looked like the cat had been trying to lick him to death. He was sopping wet and very much alive. Scratch had clearly been playing with him for quite a while. She jumped up on to the bed with that mouse in her mouth and then let him go, as if to say it was our turn to play with him. The mouse ran across the bed covers and down onto the floor, and then climbed up the curtains on the window. Somehow we managed to catch both the mouse and the cat, and I took them down into the basement and carefully explained the facts of life about cats and mice.
Not more than two days later, our other cat, Maggie, which was short for Mary Magdalene (as I said, we believed in giving our cats religious names befitting their personalities), came into the family room carrying a live field mouse, and we went through the same thing all over again!
Anyway, we are going to get a dog. And the deal is that we are going to study all of the different breeds of dogs in the world and select one that best fits the needs of our family. The kids have been bringing home piles of dog books from the library, we've been talking to dog lovers, and Jo and I have been making secret visits to pet stores and kennels. We don't dare take the kids yet, because I know that the minute they see a cute puppy my dogless days are over. I figure this research and development phase ought to last two, maybe three years. But I may have miscalculated. Son Orrin has been making plans to con one of his grandfathers into building a doghouse. And last Saturday they all went out to a pet supply store and came home with a leash and a pooper scooper.
Ah, but the old man has one more ace in the hole. There is an understanding that we all have to agree on the kind of dog we finally decide to get. What are the chances of that? One member of our family, who shall remain nameless, has always wanted an Irish Setter, ever since she was a little girl way back in the 1950s. Another member of our family wants a Golden Retriever, I think perhaps to help her fetch cute boys. And the one who has been walking around with a leash in his hand, making plans for the doghouse, wants a Shar-Pei (you know, one of those wrinkly, crinkly Chinese dogs that looks like it's about 110 years old). And I want any kind of dog that will not shed hair on the couch, will not yip at me when I come home from work, and will not jump up and lick my face. I hate it when they do that.
So pray for us, especially if we ever do actually agree on what breed of dog to get. But, whatever you do, don't leave a puppy on our doorstep, because if you do I'll come over to your house and read what it says in Proverbs 26:17.
Like someone who takes a passing dog by the ears is one who meddles in the quarrels of another.
And if that has no effect, I'll say to you what the prophet Isaiah said to King Ahab:
Thus says the Lord, "In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will also lick up your blood."
You have been fairly warned.
Note: John shared this personal story about our dog search with the congregation at Wesley United Methodist Church in Kenosha, Wisconsin, in the winter of 1994. We adopted Eli, a West Highland Terrier (named for the priest who mentored Samuel), just after we moved to Wauwatosa in July of 1994. John and Eli are learning to live with each other.
John's Scrap Pile
Dark Night of the Soul
Laughter is one of the best cures for the winter blahs. It is one of the ways God lets light into our souls during the dog days of winter. But the dog days of the soul, the darkness we experience in the depth of our beings when we feel separated from the source of light, may require stronger medicine. Sometimes one can become so low, so depressed, that silliness and lighthearted fun cannot penetrate the darkness that engulfs the soul. If you have ever been melancholy or depressed you know what I am talking about. Most of us experience depression at one time or another during our lives. Sometimes it lasts for a long time, and you may wonder if you will ever feel lighthearted again.
There are many causes for depression. It is wise to consult a physician to rule out physiological causes. Your symptoms may be treatable with light, vitamins, or medication. It is also worth considering the possibility that God may be trying to tell you something. Your pain may be the beginning of a spiritual rebirth.
In her book Fire in the Soul, Joan Borysenko calls this unknown period "a necessary transition, like the transition period of labor, a natural process, not pathological." She says:
When our souls are on fire, old beliefs and opinions can be consumed, bringing us closer to our essential nature and to the heart of healing. These times of inner burning have been called dark nights of the soul. The Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross coined that term in the mid-1500s. He used it to designate that part of the spiritual journey during which we seem to lose our connection with an inner source of peace and instead confront our deepest fears and pains. St. John saw suffering as a "purgative" administered by the divine light to cleanse the soul of all residue that would keep it separate and alone.
(from Fire In the Soul, Warner Books, 1993)
It is terribly hard to cope when the light goes out of one's life.
John says, "Those who do what is true come to the light" (3:21).
It is up to us. We can receive the light into our lives or reject it. The light, which is our hope and salvation, is also a judgment. John says, "Those who believe in him are not condemned...." Indeed, he adds, "God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." For it is as John assures us in that familiar verse (3:16). Say it with me:
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
Eternal light!
StoryShare, March 30, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 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 and in worship and classroom settings only. 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., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
