Repent...and be at Peace!

The first story comes from Africa and was told by Festo Kivengere (former Anglican Archbishop of Kigezi, Uganda, and leader of the African Enterprise evangelistic team) in Decision magazine. He says, "My uncle, the chief, was sitting in court one day with his courtiers around him when a man came and bowed in the African way. He was rich in cattle and was well known as a man who sought God through the spirits of dead relatives. He had come with eight cows which he left some twenty yards away.

'I have come for a purpose, sir,' the man said.

'What are those cows for?' asked the chief.

'Sir, they are yours.'

'What do you mean they are mine?'

'They are yours. When I was looking after your cattle, I stole four and now they are eight, and I am bringing them.'

'Who arrested you?'

'Jesus arrested me, sir, and here are your cows.'

There was no laughter, only a shocked silence. My uncle could see this man was at peace with himself and rejoicing.

'You can put me in prison or beat me up,' the man said, 'but I am liberated. Jesus came my way and I am a free human being.'

'Well, if God has done that for you, who am I to put you in prison? You go home.'

A few days later, having heard the news, I went to see my uncle. I said to him, 'Uncle, I hear you got eight free cows!'

'Yes, it's true,' he said.

'You must be happy.'

'Forget it! Since that man came, I can't sleep. If I want the peace he has, I would have to return a hundred cows!'"

Kivengere says that later this chief did come to Jesus Christ!

[http://www.christianity.co.nz/repent2.htm]

Repentance...and Regret

Rav Sholom Shvadron told the following story:

There was a man who had one son. The son was the joy of the man's life. When the child got older, he child decided to move overseas. The man was greatly saddened by the fact that the ocean would be separating him from his son. While overseas, the son got married and had children. The father greatly desired to see his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. The father constantly wrote to his son that he should come visit with his family. However, each time the invitation was extended, the son always replied that for some reason or another, a visit just was not foreseeable any time in the near future. Since this was the case, and the father's urge to see his son just grew over time, the father wrote to his son that since it was difficult for the son to make the trip, he would come and make the long journey to see the son and his family.

From the time that the father decided he was going to make this trip, he was busy with all sorts of preparations. The father's excitement grew as his departure date drew closer. Finally the day arrived. He embarked the ship laden with packages and gifts for his son and his family. Each day, the father did not cease to think about the fact that he would soon be seeing his son. From time to time, he would go on deck to see if they were nearing dry land. One morning, when he looked out, he saw the coastline, and his heart skipped a beat - he would soon be seeing his son! As the ship moved into the port, he scanned the people standing around, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son. However, he could not find him. He had no choice but to wait until he disembarked from the ship, and then search for his son.

One can only imagine how distraught the father was when his son was nowhere to be found. However, the father immediately gave his son the benefit of the doubt. He assumed that his son must have been so busy preparing for his imminent arrival that he was not able to meet him at the port. In order not to waste precious time, the father rushed to the train station so he would not miss the next train to the town where his son lived. Throughout his train ride, he was sure that his son would be there to meet him at the station. His excitement was building with each mile. When the train arrived at the station, he ran off the train, not wanting to miss his son. His disappointment with not finding his son there was greater than before. However, now his thoughts were not so much focused on the fact that his son might be busy with preparations. Instead, he started worrying: Did his son get into an accident, was everything all right?

With a heart full of worry and anxiety, the father hailed a cab to take him to his son's house. During the ride, he started imaging the warm reception awaiting him at the house. However, this dream was shattered as well. When the father arrived at the house, he found all the curtains drawn, and only a faint light could made out in one of the rooms of the house. Again the father started worrying. Was everyone healthy, did anything bad happen? His hands trembled as he knocked on the door. He knocked and waited for an answer, but there was none. He knocked again, this time harder, yet there was still no answer. Finally after knocking for a third time, he heard a faint "Who's there?" coming from the house. The father immediately recognized the voice - it was his son, who he longed to see. His excitement was unbounded knowing that the only thing that separated him from seeing his son was a door. The father responded "It is me, your father who traveled from afar to see you! Please, open the door!"

After a moment of silence, the son answered "Father, I have already removed my clothes for the night. Would it be a great trouble if you could stay at the hotel across the street tonight? I'm already in bed, and its a little difficult for me to come to the door right now. I will pick you up first thing in the morning." When the father heard this, he was despondent and infuriated. He thought "For years I have greatly desired to see my son. I had hoped that he would honor me and come visit me. However, that did not happen, and I had to go visit him. I had no doubt that he would be there with his children waiting for me at the port, yet he did not do this either. I thought that perhaps he had a reason that prevented him from greeting me at the port, but he would definitely be at the train station. He wasn't there. I finally come to his house only to find it dark. I knock on the door, only to find that my son is too lazy to even let me inside! After all this, I should wait for HIM at a hotel? I most certainly will NOT do this! " The father hailed the first taxi he could find, and went to the train station. He caught the first train back to the port, and immediately got on a ship headed back to his home, without even seeing his son.

The next morning, the son awoke. His heart was filled with remorse and regret for how he had treated his father the night before. He quickly got dressed, and ran to the hotel to find his father. The way the son felt upon discovering that his father was not there cannot be described. To call it anguish, remorse, or pain would only be an understatement.

---

Throughout the whole year, Hashem waits for the people of the nation of Israel to return to him with a complete heart. Hashem sees that we are not alacritious, and that we do not run to repent. Therefore, during this time of the year, Hashem comes to us. These days are days of mercy, which makes it even easier for us to repent, yet many people fail to take advantage of this opportunity. Hashem comes to us, but we will not even open the door for Him.

Hashem not only gave us the month of Elul and the holiday of Rosh HaShana to repent, but he gave us the "Ten Days of Repentance" as well. Our passing up both of these opportunities understandably causes Hashem anguish, just as the father was anguished when his son did not come to meet him. On Yom Kippur, Hashem is knocking on the doors of our heart, greatly desiring to be let in. Hopefully, we, unlike the son of the story, will at least do this, so we will not have to regret our mistake later.

[http://www.torah.org/learning/yomtov/yomkippur/vol1no41.html#]

The Repentant Sinner

Leo Tolstoy gives us this story (and much to think about): http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Repentant_Sinner.

Here is a version with more modern language:

There was once a man who lived for seventy years in the world, and lived in sin all that time. He fell ill, but even then did not repent. Only at the last moment, as he was dying, he wept and said:

'Lord! forgive me, as You forgave the thief upon the cross.'

And as he said these words, his soul left his body. And the soul of the sinner, feeling love towards God and faith in His mercy, went to the gates of heaven, and knocked, praying to be let into the heavenly kingdom.

Then a voice spoke from within the gate:

'What man is it that knocks at the gates of Paradise, and what deeds did he do during his life?'

And the voice of the Accuser replied, recounting all the man's evil deeds, and not a single good one.

And the voice from within the gates answered:

'Sinners cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven. Go hence!'

Then the man said:

'Lord, I hear your voice, but cannot see your face, nor do I know your name.'

The voice answered:

'I am Peter, the Apostle.'

And the sinner replied:

'Have pity on me, Apostle Peter! Remember man's weakness, and God's mercy. Were you not a disciple of Christ? Did you not hear his teaching from his own lips, and had you not his example before you? Remember then how, when he sorrowed and was grieved in spirit, and three times asked you to keep awake and pray, you slept, because your eyes were heavy, and three times he found you sleeping. So it was with me. Remember, also, how you promised to be faithful unto death, and yet three times, you denied him, when he was taken before the High Priest Caiaphas. So it was with me. And remember, too, how when the cock crowed you went out and wept bitterly. So it is with me. You cannot refuse to let me in.'

And the voice behind the gates was silent.

Then the sinner stood a little while, and again began to knock, and to ask to be let into the kingdom of heaven.

And he heard another voice behind the gates, which said:

'Who is this man, and how did he live on earth?'

And the voice of the Accuser again repeated all the sinner's evil deeds, and not a single good one.

And the voice from behind the gates replied:

'Go away! Such sinners cannot live with us in Paradise.' Then the sinner said:

'Lord, I hear your voice, but I see you not, nor do I know your name.'

And the voice answered:

'I am David; king and prophet.'

The sinner did not despair, nor did he leave the gates of paradise, but said:

Have pity on me, King David! Remember man's weakness, and God's mercy. God loved you and exalted you among men. You had it all: a kingdom, and honour, and riches, and wives, and children; but you saw from your house-top the wife of a poor man, and sin entered into you, and you took the wife of Uriah, and you slew him with the sword of the Ammonites. You, a rich man, took from the poor man his one ewe lamb, and you killed him. I have done likewise. Remember, then, how you did repent, and how you said, "I acknowledge my transgressions: my sin is ever before me?" I have done the same. You cannot refuse to let me in.'

And the voice from within the gates was silent.

The sinner having stood a little while, began knocking again, and asked to be let into the kingdom of heaven. And a third voice was heard within the gates, saying:

'Who is this man, and how has he spent his life on earth?'

And the voice of the Accuser replied for the third time, recounting the sinner's evil deeds, and not mentioning one good deed.

And the voice within the gates said:

'Depart now! Sinners cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.'

And the sinner said:

‘Your voice I hear, but your face I see not, neither do I know your name.'

Then the voice replied:

'I am John the Divine, the beloved disciple of Christ.'

And the sinner rejoiced and said:

'Now surely I will be allowed to enter. Peter and David must let me in, because they know man's weakness and God's mercy; and you will let me in, because you have loved much. Was it not you, John the Divine, who wrote that God is Love, and that he who loves not, knows not God? And in your old age didn’t you say: "Friends, love one another." How, then, can you look on me with hatred, and drive me away? Either you must renounce what you have said, or loving me, must let me enter the kingdom of heaven.'

And the gates of Paradise opened, and John embraced the repentant sinner and took him into the kingdom of heaven.

The Hundred Dollar Word

He lived from 1865 to 1936. He was English, yet born in Bombay, India. He wrote poetry and is the author of books like Captain Courageous, How the Leopard Got His Spots, and The Jungle Books. Who was this man? Rudyard Kipling.

Kipling’s writings not only made him famous but also brought him a fortune. A newspaper reporter came up to him once and said, "Mr. Kipling, I just read that somebody calculated that the money you make from your writings amounts to over one hundred dollars a word.”

The reporter reached into his pocket and pulled out a one hundred-dollar bill and gave it to Kipling and said, “Here’s a one hundred dollar bill, Mr. Kipling. Now you give me one of your hundred dollar words.”

Rudyard Kipling looked at the money, put it in his pocket and said, "Thanks!"

Improvisational Gratitude

"Paul Duke once said that praise is the "jazz factor" of faith, that praise is love improvising its answer to love. Praise is love improvising its answer to love. When one is learning to play an instrument, one first has to learn the basic fingering and, with some instruments, the discipline of breath control. First pieces of music are relatively uncomplicated, as one learns to transfer the notes that one sees on the score to the breath and the fingers, and ultimately into simple melodies. Over time the melodies may become more complex, requiring more intricate dexterity and coordination. Some musicians become remarkable technicians, learning to play flawlessly and with great passion. And a few of them will discover a capacity to internalize the score, to sense deeply its ebb and flow, and then to float free of that score, improvising as they go... retaining the theme, but enriching it with their own grace....

When I'm at my best, I can improvise such praise. When I'm at my best, even simple daily occurrences can stir such feelings: the laughter of a young child, a sunset full of orange and yellow, a warm bowl of oatmeal on a crisp autumn morning, safe transit through heavy traffic, an unexpected act of kindness, a pedal note on the organ that makes the windows rattle and my heart stir, a disagreement settled and resolved. When I'm at my best, I can improvise praise and gratitude for such moments.

At other times I find my senses dulled by routines, or my conscious thoughts consumed by those things that cause anxiety, by pettiness and envy, by expectation and demand. In those days I do well simply to follow the score. By "the score," I mean the commands of God for faithfulness, for honesty, for treating others with respect, for demonstrating kindness to my neighbor. Sometimes just following the score seems like burden and demand. And in those days improvisational gratitude seems impossible, at least without some help.

There's an old story about a renowned pianist and composer - a grand one who lived at the beginning of the last century - and a lovely thing that happened at the start of one of his concerts. At this particular concert a woman and her young son came to hear the master play. The young boy had only recently begun his piano lessons, and the mother, wishing to encourage his studies, took him to the concert.

The two were seated just prior to the concert, but the mother spotted a dear friend along the aisle a few rows back and went to speak to her, telling the boy to wait in his seat. But, then, what child likes to sit still? And so seizing the moment of opportunity to explore a bit, the boy made his way down the aisle, through an open curtain in a doorway and disappeared.

The houselights dimmed and the mother returned to her seat, discovering as she did that her son was not in his seat. She began frantically to look all around, not paying attention to the curtains opening on stage. But at the laughter of the audience, she looked, and there, seated at the magnificent Steinway on the stage, was her son, haltingly playing the first song he had learned to play: "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

The mother was horrified, and started to get up; but at that same moment the great pianist himself entered from the other side of the stage, putting his finger to his mouth to still the audience. He moved to the piano and whispered in the boy's ear. The boy kept playing, and then the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part to the composition. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obbligato. Together the old master and this young novice transformed an awkward moment into a moment of grace, and as they finished playing, the audience broke forth in thunderous applause.

The truth is the melody of gratitude is not always easy. We sometimes play it haltingly; we are sometimes undone by our own pettiness and insecurities. We may at times feel more like humming dirges of lamentation to ourselves. But by grace, sometimes we hear whispers of remarkable encouragement, whispers to us to keep playing. And as we do, in grace God extends and complements our own best efforts...transforms us in ways we had never dreamed possible. That's grace. And when it touches us maybe then we see something that others, like the other nine, miss. We see that life is a gift, that this day is a gift, and that our life's simple melody is never sung a cappella, never played alone, but is always accompanied, richly, fully. And those who are able to see in such a way cannot simply keep moving down the path they've been traveling, because what stirs in them...seeing what they see...is improvisational gratitude and praise. What stirs in them is pure jazz.

Let the music of gratitude play in us, O God. Let it play. Amen.

[from the sermon, "Improvisational Gratitude" by the Rev. Dr. Robert Dunham.]

A Little Joke at Stewardship Time....

Three boys were talking about their dads and what they did for a living. The first boy says, "My dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a poem and they give him 50 bucks."

The second boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a song and they give him a 100 bucks."

The third boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a sermon and it takes eight people to collect the money."

The Red Velvet Chair

I once went to visit a family who had just returned from out of town. John's dad had died. His father was quite elderly and death was not a surprise. As I stepped inside their home into a spacious foyer, there in the middle of the floor sat a red velvet chair and a few small boxes of keepsakes.

As John took my coat he said, "We just got home and I unloaded the car. This was dad's favorite chair."

John's dad was a man I knew and had the opportunity to visit with on several occasions. He was a man of faith. He worked hard his whole life and was a great husband and father. He had owned a large home and a business. His wife had died ten years earlier and he had spent the last few years in an assisted-living setting and finally, in a nursing home.

As I sat visiting with John and his wife, I thought about the red velvet chair and the few boxes in the foyer. That was what was left. That was all. But, of course, I was wrong; there was so much more. There were the memories. There was faith shared with his family and lived out by being a businessman of integrity. There was the living example of fifty years of faithful marriage and being a great dad to his children.

The size of the pile in the foyer did not matter. It would have made no difference if John would have had to use a semi to haul all of his dad's belongings. It would not have mattered if there had been a house, a cabin and a winter place in a warm climate. When death comes, possessions are not what is important.

I can see John's dad sitting in the red velvet chair. I can see the gentle smile on his face. I can hear the kind and affirming words coming from his mouth.

He knew there was more to life than possessions. He knew the good news of Jesus. He lived the good news. I will remember that and so will John. The red velvet chair might be around for several more years and the contents of a few boxes might be treasured by future generations, but the life lived in Christ is what really matters.

As we prayed it was in thankfulness for a life lived, a life shared and healing for those that would grieve. The red velvet chair was not included.

[Told by Rev. Gary L. Langness]

Descent into the Maelstrom

The fishing between the islands offshore of one particular spot on the Norwegian coastline was especially good, but of all the fisherman in the area, only two brothers ever dared to fish there. For twice every day between the islands and the shore, a horrendous whirlpool some half-mile in diameter would form and suck down every object or living thing that came within several miles of it. People called it “The Great Maelstrom.”

One day these two brothers, sure of perfect weather, set sail to the islands, enjoyed a marvelous catch, and then headed home well before the pool was to form. Suddenly, however, the winds changed, standing them. Before they could row back to the islands a hurricane wind was upon them, tossing them wildly about and snapping their mainsail’s mast.

The younger brother clung to a ring bolt at the front of the boat and the elder brother grabbed an empty barrel that was lashed to the back. They rode this way for some time. Suddenly, as they crested a wave, they saw that their tiny boat was heading straight toward the forming pool. In his terror the elder brother at the back lunged and forced the ring bolt from his brother’s hand. This brother did not contest the other’s fear but went to the back and held on to the water cask.

Finally the inevitable moment came and the tiny ship careened into the whirlpool. The younger brother closed his eyes, said a prayer, and waited for certain death. After a moment however, when death hadn’t come, he opened his eyes to find that the boat had not fallen into the abyss but was hanging on the edge of the pool, riding around and around, going slowly down.

Looking up at the sides of the pool and knowing now that death was inevitable, his fear all but left him. He began to notice with fascination that there were many other objects in the pool - trees, boats, furniture. He began to take interest in the differing speeds with which the objects fell and finally plunged into the swirl. As he watched, a stunning realization was forming in his mind: the lighter, cylindrical objects fell more slowly, while the heavier objects dropped more quickly into the abyss.

This realization set his heart pounding and his mind to racing. He knew that their only hope of surviving was to lash themselves to the empty water cask and throw themselves out of the boat. He motioned to his brother and, using hand signals, explained his plan. But his brother dropped his head and gripped the ring ever harder, choosing the familiarity of his boat over the uncertainty of the waters. At last, resigning him to his fate, the younger brother cut free the water cask, lashed himself to it, and jumped into the cold black wall of the pool.

It was just as he had hoped. His barrel sank but little more while the small boat went steadily down and finally hurtled his poor brother to his death. Soon the pool began to change. The whirl began to slow and the bottom to rise up. It wasn’t long before he found himself again on the surface of the water with the shores of his home in sight.

He was picked up early the next morning by fishermen from his own village. But the fishermen knew him not. For when he had left that morning, his hair had been as black as a raven. When they hauled him in, it was as white as snow.

[from Doorways to the Soul: 52 Wisdom Tales from Around the World, ed. by Elisa Davy Pearman. ISBN: 0-8298-1286-5, p. 77. This story is adapted from “Descent into the Maelstrom” by Edgar Allan Poe. I have enjoyed this book and recommend it for those seeking preaching stories. You can visit the author's website here: http://www.wisdomtales.com/]

Why Didn't You Say So?

It is the power of the witness that all of our lives can be changed as we believe. I am often reminded about the power received when something is properly explained. My wife and I are proud of our children. Our son and daughter have brought tremendous joy to our lives, as well as the unique challenges that young people give to their parents. Our oldest son is a recent graduate of the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Md. I am sure you can tell the parents are extremely proud of this achievement. Yet, we also remember this young man as a rising senior in high school, wanting a car like his friends. Remembering the counsel of our parents, we strived to do something they were unable to offer us. We searched and found a valued friend who sold us an excellent vehicle-a Honda Civic. It would later be called "The Blue Box" because of its color and shape. It was an excellent vehicle-one owner, seven years old, 6,000 miles, and the oil had been changed every month! The owner only drove the car to work and back home. It was an excellent deal and we bought it. Our task was to hide the car until Christmas day when the celebration would be experienced. On that day, all of us were excited. Having anticipated the gift of a car, our son, full of anticipation, slid down the stairs, found the keys, and ran toward the garage. His parents were excited as well. As he opened the door, I do not believe I will ever forget the expression on his face or the words from his mouth. He said, "Is that the car you bought me?" An uneasy silence enveloped us. I explained, "This is an exceptional car-one owner, seven years old, six thousand miles, and the oil changed every month. She only drove the car to work, and it is a steal!" He replied, "I do not like it, and I don't want it, and I want Mom's car."

A wonderful gesture had turned into a big failure. He wanted the vehicle with all the comforts we come now to expect. As a father, I fought back the displeasure of the moment, seeking insight for that time. It is in these moments that we need intervention. Truly, I believe the Holy Spirit enveloped that particular time with gracious understanding. In the midst of the conversation, I heard him ask, "What about me? What about me?" And I reminded him that a yellow school bus stopped at our house each morning, and I invited him to ride it. I shared with him the driver would take him to school and return to bring him home. Suddenly, a different countenance enveloped him. He replied, "Dad, why didn't you explain it that way before? This is an excellent car! One owner. Seven years old. Six -thousand miles. And the oil changed every month!" He continued, "It may not have all the bells and whistles, but I can get plenty of exercise by rolling the windows up and down and manually moving the seats. Dad, if you had explained it this way before, you could have saved us all of this heartache." Oh, the power of an explanation!

[from the sermon "Can I Get a Witness?" by the Reverend Jonathan Holston.]

Radical Welcome

Years ago, the Reagans were entertaining very special guests. The
day before they were to arrive, while preparing the guest room,
Mrs. Reagan laid out some towels with a note saying, "If you use
these I will murder you." The note was meant for her husband,
Ronald Reagan. In the excitement of her guests' arrival, she forgot
to remove the note. After they had come and gone, she discovered
the towels, still in perfect order, as well as the note itself.

Chapter and Verse

I like the story about a rather legalistic Seminary student who wanted to have a scriptural basis for everything he did. He felt he was on solid ground if he could quote Bible book, chapter & verse to okay his actions.

He did all right with that until he began to fall in love with a beautiful college student. He wanted very much to kiss her, but he just couldn’t find a scripture to okay it. So, true to his conscience, he would simply walk her to the dormitory each night, look at her longingly, & then say "Good night."

This went on for several weeks, & all the time he was searching the Bible, trying to find some scripture to okay kissing her good night. But he couldn’t find one, until finally he came across that passage in Romans that says, "Greet each other with a holy kiss." He thought, "At last, I have scriptural authority for kissing her good night."

But to be sure, he went to his hermeneutics professor to check it out. After talking with the professor, he realized that the passage dealt more with a church setting than with a dating situation. So once again he simply didn’t have a passage of scripture to okay kissing his girl good night.

That evening he walked her to the dormitory & once again started to bid her "good night." But as he did, she grabbed him, pulled him toward her, & planted a 10-second kiss right on his lips.

At the end of the kiss, the Seminary student gasped for air, & stammered, "Bible verse, Bible verse." The girl grabbed him a 2nd time, & just before kissing him again, said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."