The Wisest Person I've Ever Known
Stories
Contents
What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Carpe Kairos"
Good Stories: "The Wisest Person I've Ever Known" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"A Double Recipe" by Susan K. Hedahl
Scrap Pile: "The Babe in the Dashboard" by C. David McKirachan
"Such a Deal!" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
This week's readings explore the nature of true wisdom -- and the stories in this edition of StoryShare offer a variety of perspectives, ranging from Rick McCracken-Bennett's descriptive tale in Good Stories of one woman's personification of wisdom, to David McKirachan's whimsical view of a parent's experience in the Scrap Pile, to the inspiring advice to seize the moment and make the most of every day in A Story to Live By. We also have a pair of contrasting pieces on Jesus' powerful "living bread" imagery in this week's Gospel text.
A Story to Live By
Carpe Kairos
Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil.
Ephesians 5:15-16
In the movie Dead Poets Society, Robin Williams portrays John Keating, an English teacher who returns in the late 1960s to his alma mater, the prestigious prep school Wellton Academy. Keating's unconventional teaching ways have some strong effects on his students, in particular: Charlie Dalton, who hates the school; Knox Overstreet, who is helplessly in love with a girl; painfully shy Todd Anderson, who has been sent to the school where his popular older brother was valedictorian; and Neil Perry, who wants to be an actor despite his father's refusal. Keating inspires the boys to think on their own and to go against the status quo.
They re-initiate the Dead Poets Society, a group that Keating was in as a student at Wellton. Through their club, the boys discover the magic of poetry and the power of words. Keating uses famous quotes from Whitman, Thoreau, and other classical thinkers to motivate his students. In their own way, each student is motivated and is changed for life.
In a particularly critical scene, Keating tells his students: "We are food for worms, lads! Believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room one day will stop breathing, turn cold, and die."
In an effort to encourage his students to reach their potential, Keating invites them to consider the students who attended Wellton before them: "They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it?"
Then he says in an eerie voice as if coming from the grave, "Carpe. Hear it? Carpe, carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary!"
Paul writes to the Ephesians and tells them they should be "making the most of the time." Paul's phrasing literally means "Redeem the kairos." The ancient Greeks made a distinction of two types of time: chronos, which is chronological time, and kairos, which is the moment. Chronos has a beginning and an end -- birth and death. Kairos is now -- the significant occurrences in between. Paul is saying:
Carpe diem!
Claim the moment!
Go for the gold!
Reach for the brass ring!
Strike while the iron is hot!
Now is the time!
Seize the moment!
How we live makes a difference. Paul says to make the most of the time given to live in the will of the Lord. The wise choose to spend their time yearning to be filled with the Spirit rather than being filled with "spirits."
(From Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Series IV, Cycle B] by Gregory Tolle)
Good Stories
The Wisest Person I've Ever Knownbr> by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Solomon asked of the Lord, "Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil..."
1 Kings 3:9ab
"He was the wisest person I've ever known." Joyce was referring to her former pastor, who had died several years into his retirement.
"How so?" Sam, her new pastor, asked.
"Well, for one thing, he asked the best questions. You know how when you go to someone for help, for advice, they so often seem in a hurry to fix you, to make everything better?"
Sam agreed that that had happened to him on occasion. What he didn't admit out loud was that he himself had rushed people to feel better too quickly too many times.
"Well, Jack never did that. You might spill out your guts, tell him how hurt someone made you feel, or how scared you were for one of your kids, and he would just sit there, smiling gently, handing you a box of tissues. Then he would ask you a question that took you deeper into your story and sometimes even your pain. It was like he really wanted to hear it all... as if he had all the time in the world."
"But he eventually told you what to do," Sam said, thinking back to how differently he had often handled similar situations.
"No... no, he didn't," Joyce said, obviously remembering one of those times she spent in Jack's study. "No, he would just listen, ask questions, and then more likely than not he would tell you a story." She laughed for the first time that day.
"A story?"
"Well, yes. He would stop for a moment, like he was making sure that you had said all you were going to say at the time, and then he would smile. Oh, how we all loved that smile. So warm, so... so knowing, if you know what I mean."
Her pastor said that he thought he did, secretly wondering about his own smile for a moment.
"Then he would begin with something like, 'What you're telling me reminds me of...' and he would weave a story that seemed to go right to the heart of what I had been talking about. Usually simple, but always, I thought, profound."
"Were they true stories?" She had Sam's interest now.
"If you're asking me if all of the stories he told had actually happened, I would have to say that I don't really know. I suspect not. But each one of them was true."
"True stories that might not have happened?" Sam was confused and looked the part. But Joyce didn't seem to be, she just said yes.
She went on. "I think what we'll remember most about him at St. Paul's was the way he handled disputes between members of the church. He would first ask two people he trusted from the congregation to try to mediate the disagreement or quarrel. Then if they couldn't seem to come to a resolution, he would have both parties into his study and listen -- always calmly, always without either of the parties thinking that he was taking sides."
"Sounds like you had a firsthand experience with this."
Joyce just smiled and went on. "When both had finished he would start with his questions, helping each person hear... truly hear, maybe for the first time, the point of view of the other. Or he would make statements like, 'I was really moved when you told me about how you felt when, as you say, Bob snubbed you. Could you tell me more about that?' And then he would ask the other person what was going through their mind when they did what was alleged." She paused, appearing frustrated. "I'm not explaining it very well, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."
"No, you're doing fine. What you're describing reminds me of an old story about a wise man who was asked to settle a dispute between two men. He listened to the first tell his side of the story and then said, 'You're right.' He then listened to the second man and said to him, 'You are right.' The wise man's wife, who had witnessed the whole thing, said to her husband, 'But dear... they can't both be right.' To which the wise man replied, 'Oh... you're right.' "
"Yes! That's how he was. And that's just the kind of story he would tell." Sam felt himself blush with more than a little pride. "Oh, he was a great man and a fine, fine pastor. I wish you had known him."
And Sam had to admit that he wished he had known him too.
Rick McCracken-Bennett, an Episcopal priest and church planter, is the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. McCracken-Bennett has been an avid storyteller for almost 20 years, sharing his stories in churches, libraries, schools, and conferences. He is a member of the National Storytelling Network, the National Organization of Biblical Storytellers, and the Storytellers of Central Ohio. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explored the use of stories to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
A Double Recipe
by Susan K. Hedahl
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:51
Karenza picked up the telephone in her study. It was Mr. Edwards calling about the summer parish meals. Each year they had chosen a theme for five weeks of supper gatherings -- it had been a way to maintain fellowship during the summer months. Mr. Edwards was writing a piece for the parish newsletter, and he wondered what the committee had decided on for the theme.
"It will be bread," Karenza replied. He was silent for a moment.
"Bread?"
"Yes," Karenza said. "Jesus calls himself 'the living bread,' and there is a lot in that phrase that will keep us busy. I can think of several things; the program called 'Bread for the World,' the meanings of the daily bread we pray for in the Lord's Prayer, the role of bread in our lives. The list is a long one."
After the phone call was over, Karenza pondered the issue of bread. She remembered smelling the wonderful scent of baking bread when she was a child. But time and efficiency and schedules had made baking bread a thing of the past. She grinned to herself. Her husband John had been given a bread-baking machine for Christmas, and he had discovered that baking bread was a great way to relax after a busy workday. Their household had tasted some wonderful recipes lately.
But how to speak about bread to the congregation? She planned out the program, and together with some other parishioners focused particularly on the last of their summer suppers.
On the final Wednesday when the congregation gathered for the evening meal, they sampled a variety of home-baked breads parishioners had brought: pita bread from the Spiros household, lefse from the Johnsons, nine-grain bread from the Sullivans. People joked together about eating every Wednesday night meal as a congregation.
Finally, several parishioners, including the teenage author of the play, creatively, reverently, and thoughtfully enacted the scene of the last supper. It concluded with the departure of the disciples and Jesus to the Mount of Olives.
As Jesus turned to leave, he asked who had provided the bread for their meal. Two young women stepped forward and said they had. Jesus smiled and said, "Your bread filled us and has strengthened our spirits. Remember how much I enjoyed it."
Susan K. Hedahl is a professor of homiletics at Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg. She is the author of numerous books, including most recently "Who Do You Say That I Am?": Preaching in the 21st Century (Augsburg Fortress).
Scrap Pile
The Babe in the Dashboard
by C. David McKirachan
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; all those who practice it have a good understanding.
Psalm 111:10
My son was borrowing my car to do us a favor. It's a nice car. He's a nice person. He's 21. Needless to say, though he's intelligent and fun and polite, he still knows everything -- that's what it means to be 21.
I vaguely remember that. It's like a bad dream. I remember thinking that my parents didn't know how to make decisions and were all tangled up in "norms." I remember saying things that led to much shaking of heads. I remember knowing everything.
Anyway, back to the borrowing of the car... My car has a finder thing on it that allows you to type in your destination, and then it gives you a route. It talks to you in a slightly sultry female voice and tells you where to turn and how far 'til the next one. It's cool. But like all sultry-voiced machines, it's got a mind of its own. Even though there are construction and detour signs, it says, "You've missed your turn. Make your first legal U-turn." You see, it knows everything too. As a result of losing a few wrestling matches with the voice in my car, I'm back to maps that fold -- even though I think it's a cool toy.
So my son was making this trip as a favor, and I said, "I'll give you directions." Silly parent that I am, I forgot that he knew everything. "Dad, you've got the babe in the dashboard," he said. "She'll tell me how to get there." I replied with the hesitant voice of someone tangled up in "norms": "But sometimes it doesn't work the way you want it to." He shook his head and gave me the look that indicates we have just passed into the territory of How Did You Ever Get This Far In Life. (They don't listen to you in this territory.) So he said, "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Two hours later my cell phone (which I'm still learning to use) rang. It was my all-knowing son. "Dad, do I go west on 80?" With great humility -- and a wonderful aura of wisdom and told-ya-so-itis -- I replied, "West, my dear boy." He explained that the "system" (as he now called the "babe in the dashboard") didn't seem to take into account certain... The explanation was lost in the glow I felt. After he said, "You were right," I stopped listening and just basked. Pride is a terrible thing.
I hope his experiences are not too painful. But sooner or later, if he is to be anything but a fool (and a miserable one at that), he'll have to learn wisdom. It can only come from the grief of learning that he doesn't know much, and he's in control of even less. That I would call "fear of the Lord." It is the beginning -- and probably the middle and the end -- of any and all wisdom. Thank God I'm not 21 anymore... I just wish my feet didn't hurt.
Such a Deal!
by C. David McKirachan
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink."
John 6:51-55
There's this restaurant I frequent in Seabright called the Waterfront Cafe. It's built out on a pier, surrounded by boats. Sunsets to die for. They have two chefs who can do things with shrimp that are right up there with the sunsets. Marty, the owner, sits at the end of the bar presiding over his domain with a baseball hat crown. He used to carry around a cigar, until they made it illegal. He comes to church, then goes back to the restaurant and discusses my sermons. It's become a real focus of evangelism. When I go to this place, I'm known, appreciated, and very well fed.
The other day someone asked me if the dinner we get there is worth the price. The question bothered me -- it made no sense to me. I tried to answer by saying that the food is exceptional and the service is great, but in the middle of my answer I realized that the value of the place for me has little to do with the price of the meal. I realized the Waterfront isn't just where I go to buy food. It's full of memories and moments, of relationships and small traditions. I felt like the questioner and I were having two different conversations. To answer him, I'd either have to deny my experience of value to talk in his language of dollars and cents and comparisons with the beer joint down the road, or I'd have to speak in terms that transcended his frame of reference.
Sometimes I wonder why Jesus didn't just fry the idiots that surrounded him. John's Gospel is full of these multi-level conversations with Truth and Glory coming out of the Lord's mouth, with everybody else not getting, not seeing, not even breathing in the same dimension as the Incarnate Word standing before them.
It gets frightening when I use a little humility and realize that I would have probably been one of the idiots. It's easy not to understand. It's easy not to see. It's hard not to keep operating on automatic and to notice that something exceptional is happening right before our eyes. Food's food, money's money, my kid's a pain in the neck, and my schedule is stupid. But here and now we are alive. Here and now eternity intersects our day with a touch and a whisper. Here and now we have an opportunity to taste and see that the Lord is good.
Such multi-dimensional gobbledygook led the Pharisees to mumble and grumble and ask stupid questions like "How can we consume this man's flesh?" I would have fried 'em. But we shouldn't be too hard on them. We have phrases like "measurable and attainable." We choose efficiency over beauty. We teach kids to bisect a cone rather than teaching them how to be intimate or deal with conflict. Yep, I think I'd fry us too.
But He didn't -- and He goes on refraining from doing so. He goes on nourishing us in spite of our tendency to worry about the bottom line and to look at our watches when the sermon gets too long. He's more than calories on the hoof for mind, body, and spirit. He's the entree in a banquet of love... and He's the host... and He's the entertainment.
Are we getting our money's worth? If you gotta ask, you can't afford it.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
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StoryShare, August 20, 2006, issue.
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What's Up This Week
A Story to Live By: "Carpe Kairos"
Good Stories: "The Wisest Person I've Ever Known" by Rick McCracken-Bennett
"A Double Recipe" by Susan K. Hedahl
Scrap Pile: "The Babe in the Dashboard" by C. David McKirachan
"Such a Deal!" by C. David McKirachan
What's Up This Week
This week's readings explore the nature of true wisdom -- and the stories in this edition of StoryShare offer a variety of perspectives, ranging from Rick McCracken-Bennett's descriptive tale in Good Stories of one woman's personification of wisdom, to David McKirachan's whimsical view of a parent's experience in the Scrap Pile, to the inspiring advice to seize the moment and make the most of every day in A Story to Live By. We also have a pair of contrasting pieces on Jesus' powerful "living bread" imagery in this week's Gospel text.
A Story to Live By
Carpe Kairos
Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil.
Ephesians 5:15-16
In the movie Dead Poets Society, Robin Williams portrays John Keating, an English teacher who returns in the late 1960s to his alma mater, the prestigious prep school Wellton Academy. Keating's unconventional teaching ways have some strong effects on his students, in particular: Charlie Dalton, who hates the school; Knox Overstreet, who is helplessly in love with a girl; painfully shy Todd Anderson, who has been sent to the school where his popular older brother was valedictorian; and Neil Perry, who wants to be an actor despite his father's refusal. Keating inspires the boys to think on their own and to go against the status quo.
They re-initiate the Dead Poets Society, a group that Keating was in as a student at Wellton. Through their club, the boys discover the magic of poetry and the power of words. Keating uses famous quotes from Whitman, Thoreau, and other classical thinkers to motivate his students. In their own way, each student is motivated and is changed for life.
In a particularly critical scene, Keating tells his students: "We are food for worms, lads! Believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room one day will stop breathing, turn cold, and die."
In an effort to encourage his students to reach their potential, Keating invites them to consider the students who attended Wellton before them: "They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it?"
Then he says in an eerie voice as if coming from the grave, "Carpe. Hear it? Carpe, carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary!"
Paul writes to the Ephesians and tells them they should be "making the most of the time." Paul's phrasing literally means "Redeem the kairos." The ancient Greeks made a distinction of two types of time: chronos, which is chronological time, and kairos, which is the moment. Chronos has a beginning and an end -- birth and death. Kairos is now -- the significant occurrences in between. Paul is saying:
Carpe diem!
Claim the moment!
Go for the gold!
Reach for the brass ring!
Strike while the iron is hot!
Now is the time!
Seize the moment!
How we live makes a difference. Paul says to make the most of the time given to live in the will of the Lord. The wise choose to spend their time yearning to be filled with the Spirit rather than being filled with "spirits."
(From Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit [Series IV, Cycle B] by Gregory Tolle)
Good Stories
The Wisest Person I've Ever Knownbr> by Rick McCracken-Bennett
Solomon asked of the Lord, "Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil..."
1 Kings 3:9ab
"He was the wisest person I've ever known." Joyce was referring to her former pastor, who had died several years into his retirement.
"How so?" Sam, her new pastor, asked.
"Well, for one thing, he asked the best questions. You know how when you go to someone for help, for advice, they so often seem in a hurry to fix you, to make everything better?"
Sam agreed that that had happened to him on occasion. What he didn't admit out loud was that he himself had rushed people to feel better too quickly too many times.
"Well, Jack never did that. You might spill out your guts, tell him how hurt someone made you feel, or how scared you were for one of your kids, and he would just sit there, smiling gently, handing you a box of tissues. Then he would ask you a question that took you deeper into your story and sometimes even your pain. It was like he really wanted to hear it all... as if he had all the time in the world."
"But he eventually told you what to do," Sam said, thinking back to how differently he had often handled similar situations.
"No... no, he didn't," Joyce said, obviously remembering one of those times she spent in Jack's study. "No, he would just listen, ask questions, and then more likely than not he would tell you a story." She laughed for the first time that day.
"A story?"
"Well, yes. He would stop for a moment, like he was making sure that you had said all you were going to say at the time, and then he would smile. Oh, how we all loved that smile. So warm, so... so knowing, if you know what I mean."
Her pastor said that he thought he did, secretly wondering about his own smile for a moment.
"Then he would begin with something like, 'What you're telling me reminds me of...' and he would weave a story that seemed to go right to the heart of what I had been talking about. Usually simple, but always, I thought, profound."
"Were they true stories?" She had Sam's interest now.
"If you're asking me if all of the stories he told had actually happened, I would have to say that I don't really know. I suspect not. But each one of them was true."
"True stories that might not have happened?" Sam was confused and looked the part. But Joyce didn't seem to be, she just said yes.
She went on. "I think what we'll remember most about him at St. Paul's was the way he handled disputes between members of the church. He would first ask two people he trusted from the congregation to try to mediate the disagreement or quarrel. Then if they couldn't seem to come to a resolution, he would have both parties into his study and listen -- always calmly, always without either of the parties thinking that he was taking sides."
"Sounds like you had a firsthand experience with this."
Joyce just smiled and went on. "When both had finished he would start with his questions, helping each person hear... truly hear, maybe for the first time, the point of view of the other. Or he would make statements like, 'I was really moved when you told me about how you felt when, as you say, Bob snubbed you. Could you tell me more about that?' And then he would ask the other person what was going through their mind when they did what was alleged." She paused, appearing frustrated. "I'm not explaining it very well, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."
"No, you're doing fine. What you're describing reminds me of an old story about a wise man who was asked to settle a dispute between two men. He listened to the first tell his side of the story and then said, 'You're right.' He then listened to the second man and said to him, 'You are right.' The wise man's wife, who had witnessed the whole thing, said to her husband, 'But dear... they can't both be right.' To which the wise man replied, 'Oh... you're right.' "
"Yes! That's how he was. And that's just the kind of story he would tell." Sam felt himself blush with more than a little pride. "Oh, he was a great man and a fine, fine pastor. I wish you had known him."
And Sam had to admit that he wished he had known him too.
Rick McCracken-Bennett, an Episcopal priest and church planter, is the founding pastor of All Saints Episcopal Church in New Albany, Ohio. Rick began his ministry as a Roman Catholic priest, and he has also served as an alcohol and drug treatment counselor and as the director of an outpatient treatment center for adults and children. McCracken-Bennett has been an avid storyteller for almost 20 years, sharing his stories in churches, libraries, schools, and conferences. He is a member of the National Storytelling Network, the National Organization of Biblical Storytellers, and the Storytellers of Central Ohio. His doctoral thesis, Future Story, explored the use of stories to help bring about change in the church. McCracken-Bennett is a graduate of Findlay College, St. Meinrad School of Theology, and Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.
A Double Recipe
by Susan K. Hedahl
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
John 6:51
Karenza picked up the telephone in her study. It was Mr. Edwards calling about the summer parish meals. Each year they had chosen a theme for five weeks of supper gatherings -- it had been a way to maintain fellowship during the summer months. Mr. Edwards was writing a piece for the parish newsletter, and he wondered what the committee had decided on for the theme.
"It will be bread," Karenza replied. He was silent for a moment.
"Bread?"
"Yes," Karenza said. "Jesus calls himself 'the living bread,' and there is a lot in that phrase that will keep us busy. I can think of several things; the program called 'Bread for the World,' the meanings of the daily bread we pray for in the Lord's Prayer, the role of bread in our lives. The list is a long one."
After the phone call was over, Karenza pondered the issue of bread. She remembered smelling the wonderful scent of baking bread when she was a child. But time and efficiency and schedules had made baking bread a thing of the past. She grinned to herself. Her husband John had been given a bread-baking machine for Christmas, and he had discovered that baking bread was a great way to relax after a busy workday. Their household had tasted some wonderful recipes lately.
But how to speak about bread to the congregation? She planned out the program, and together with some other parishioners focused particularly on the last of their summer suppers.
On the final Wednesday when the congregation gathered for the evening meal, they sampled a variety of home-baked breads parishioners had brought: pita bread from the Spiros household, lefse from the Johnsons, nine-grain bread from the Sullivans. People joked together about eating every Wednesday night meal as a congregation.
Finally, several parishioners, including the teenage author of the play, creatively, reverently, and thoughtfully enacted the scene of the last supper. It concluded with the departure of the disciples and Jesus to the Mount of Olives.
As Jesus turned to leave, he asked who had provided the bread for their meal. Two young women stepped forward and said they had. Jesus smiled and said, "Your bread filled us and has strengthened our spirits. Remember how much I enjoyed it."
Susan K. Hedahl is a professor of homiletics at Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg. She is the author of numerous books, including most recently "Who Do You Say That I Am?": Preaching in the 21st Century (Augsburg Fortress).
Scrap Pile
The Babe in the Dashboard
by C. David McKirachan
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; all those who practice it have a good understanding.
Psalm 111:10
My son was borrowing my car to do us a favor. It's a nice car. He's a nice person. He's 21. Needless to say, though he's intelligent and fun and polite, he still knows everything -- that's what it means to be 21.
I vaguely remember that. It's like a bad dream. I remember thinking that my parents didn't know how to make decisions and were all tangled up in "norms." I remember saying things that led to much shaking of heads. I remember knowing everything.
Anyway, back to the borrowing of the car... My car has a finder thing on it that allows you to type in your destination, and then it gives you a route. It talks to you in a slightly sultry female voice and tells you where to turn and how far 'til the next one. It's cool. But like all sultry-voiced machines, it's got a mind of its own. Even though there are construction and detour signs, it says, "You've missed your turn. Make your first legal U-turn." You see, it knows everything too. As a result of losing a few wrestling matches with the voice in my car, I'm back to maps that fold -- even though I think it's a cool toy.
So my son was making this trip as a favor, and I said, "I'll give you directions." Silly parent that I am, I forgot that he knew everything. "Dad, you've got the babe in the dashboard," he said. "She'll tell me how to get there." I replied with the hesitant voice of someone tangled up in "norms": "But sometimes it doesn't work the way you want it to." He shook his head and gave me the look that indicates we have just passed into the territory of How Did You Ever Get This Far In Life. (They don't listen to you in this territory.) So he said, "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
Two hours later my cell phone (which I'm still learning to use) rang. It was my all-knowing son. "Dad, do I go west on 80?" With great humility -- and a wonderful aura of wisdom and told-ya-so-itis -- I replied, "West, my dear boy." He explained that the "system" (as he now called the "babe in the dashboard") didn't seem to take into account certain... The explanation was lost in the glow I felt. After he said, "You were right," I stopped listening and just basked. Pride is a terrible thing.
I hope his experiences are not too painful. But sooner or later, if he is to be anything but a fool (and a miserable one at that), he'll have to learn wisdom. It can only come from the grief of learning that he doesn't know much, and he's in control of even less. That I would call "fear of the Lord." It is the beginning -- and probably the middle and the end -- of any and all wisdom. Thank God I'm not 21 anymore... I just wish my feet didn't hurt.
Such a Deal!
by C. David McKirachan
"I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink."
John 6:51-55
There's this restaurant I frequent in Seabright called the Waterfront Cafe. It's built out on a pier, surrounded by boats. Sunsets to die for. They have two chefs who can do things with shrimp that are right up there with the sunsets. Marty, the owner, sits at the end of the bar presiding over his domain with a baseball hat crown. He used to carry around a cigar, until they made it illegal. He comes to church, then goes back to the restaurant and discusses my sermons. It's become a real focus of evangelism. When I go to this place, I'm known, appreciated, and very well fed.
The other day someone asked me if the dinner we get there is worth the price. The question bothered me -- it made no sense to me. I tried to answer by saying that the food is exceptional and the service is great, but in the middle of my answer I realized that the value of the place for me has little to do with the price of the meal. I realized the Waterfront isn't just where I go to buy food. It's full of memories and moments, of relationships and small traditions. I felt like the questioner and I were having two different conversations. To answer him, I'd either have to deny my experience of value to talk in his language of dollars and cents and comparisons with the beer joint down the road, or I'd have to speak in terms that transcended his frame of reference.
Sometimes I wonder why Jesus didn't just fry the idiots that surrounded him. John's Gospel is full of these multi-level conversations with Truth and Glory coming out of the Lord's mouth, with everybody else not getting, not seeing, not even breathing in the same dimension as the Incarnate Word standing before them.
It gets frightening when I use a little humility and realize that I would have probably been one of the idiots. It's easy not to understand. It's easy not to see. It's hard not to keep operating on automatic and to notice that something exceptional is happening right before our eyes. Food's food, money's money, my kid's a pain in the neck, and my schedule is stupid. But here and now we are alive. Here and now eternity intersects our day with a touch and a whisper. Here and now we have an opportunity to taste and see that the Lord is good.
Such multi-dimensional gobbledygook led the Pharisees to mumble and grumble and ask stupid questions like "How can we consume this man's flesh?" I would have fried 'em. But we shouldn't be too hard on them. We have phrases like "measurable and attainable." We choose efficiency over beauty. We teach kids to bisect a cone rather than teaching them how to be intimate or deal with conflict. Yep, I think I'd fry us too.
But He didn't -- and He goes on refraining from doing so. He goes on nourishing us in spite of our tendency to worry about the bottom line and to look at our watches when the sermon gets too long. He's more than calories on the hoof for mind, body, and spirit. He's the entree in a banquet of love... and He's the host... and He's the entertainment.
Are we getting our money's worth? If you gotta ask, you can't afford it.
C. David McKirachan is pastor of the Presbyterian Church at Shrewsbury in central New Jersey. He also teaches at Monmouth University. McKirachan is the author of I Happened Upon a Miracle and A Year of Wonder (Westminster John Knox).
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StoryShare, August 20, 2006, issue.
Copyright 2006 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
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