By What Measure?

Sixty-four years ago a Philadelphia congregation watched as three nine-year-old boys were baptized and joined the church. Not long after, unable to continue with its dwindling membership, the church sold the building and disbanded.

One of those boys was Tony Campolo, who is now a well-known evangelical pastor, author and sociologist at Eastern University in Pennsylvania. Over his many years of Christian service, Tony has boldly challenged millions of people all over the world to respond to God’s boundless love by combining personal discipleship, evangelism, and social justice.

"Years later, while doing research in the archives of our denomination," Tony said, "I decided to look up the church report for the year of my baptism. There was my name, and Dick White's. He's now a missionary. Bert Newman, now a professor of theology at an African seminary, was also there.

'It has not been a good year for our church,' the report read. 'We have lost 27 members. Three joined and they were only children.'"

[submitted by Sarah Howe Miller]

All We Can Do For You Now

Elmer Bendiner, in his book The Fall of Fortresses, describes one bombing run over the German city of Kassel:

Our B-17 (The Tondelayo) was barraged by flak from Nazi antiaircraft guns. That was not unusual, but on this particular occasion our gas tanks were hit. Later, as I reflected on the miracle of a twenty-millimeter shell piercing the fuel tank without touching off an explosion, our pilot, Bohn Fawkes, told me it was not quite that simple.

On the morning following the raid, Bohn had gone down to ask our crew chief for that shell as a souvenir of unbelievable luck. The crew chief told Bohn that not just one shell but eleven had been found in the gas tanks—eleven unexploded shells where only one was sufficient to blast us out of the sky. It was as if the sea had been parted for us. Even after thirty-five years, so awesome an event leaves me shaken, especially after I heard the rest of the story from Bohn.
He was told that the shells had been sent to the armorers to be defused. The armorers told him that Intelligence had picked them up. They could not say why at the time, but Bohn eventually sought out the answer.

Apparently when the armorers opened each of those shells, they found no explosive charge. They were clean as a whistle and just as harmless. Empty? Not all of them.

One contained a carefully rolled piece of paper. On it was a scrawl in Czech. The Intelligence people scoured our base for a man who could read Czech. Eventually, they found one to decipher the note. It set us marveling. 

Translated, the note read: “This is all we can do for you now.”

Parable of the Blacksmith

Once upon a time there was a blacksmith who worked hard at his trade. The day came for him to die. The angel was sent to him, and much to the angel's surprise he refused to go. He pleaded with the angel to make his case before God, that he was the only blacksmith in the area and it was time for all his neighbors to begin their planting and sowing. He was needed. So the angel pleaded his case before God. he said that the man didn't want to appear ungrateful, and that he was glad to have a place in the kingdom, but could he put off going for a while? And he was left.

About a year or two later the angel came back again with the same message: the Lord was ready to share the fullness of the kingdom with him. Again the man had reservations and said: "A neighbor of mine is seriously ill, and it's time for the harvest. A number of us are trying to save his crops so that his family won't become destitute. Please come back later." And off the angel went again.

Well, it got to be a pattern. Every time the angel came, the blacksmith had one excuse or another. The blacksmith would just shake his head and tell the angel where he was needed and decline. Finally, the blacksmith grew very old, weary and tired. He decided it was time, and so he prayed: "God, if you'd like to send your angel again, I'd be glad to come home now." Immediately the angel appeared, as if from around the corner of the bed. The blacksmith said: "If you still want to take me home, I'm ready to live forever in the kingdom of heaven." And the angel laughed and looked at the blacksmith in delight and surprise and said: "Where do you think you've been all these years?" He was home.

(As told by Megan McKenna in her book, Parables: the Arrows of God.)

I Left My Sins at the Supermarket!

A Catholic priest, who had become very deaf in his advancing years, had formed the habit of asking those erring members of his flock who came to his enclosed stall to write their penitences on a slip of paper, instead of speaking them to him. The practice worked fairly well until one day when the father heard a heavily-breathing man enter the visitor's side of the confessional and fumble for a few moments as a small, crumpled piece of paper was passed through the curtain into the old cleric's hand.The confession read: Two cans of beans. Quarter pound ham. Cans of Coke. Four fish filets. Bread rolls. Toilet paper. Large coffee. Soap. Butter.The priest studied the note for a puzzled minute or two and then silently passed the slip back.Suddenly, there came an agonized voice from the stall beside him: "Mother of God, I've left my sins at the supermarket!"

As told by British journalist Godfrey Talbut, and referenced in Executive Newsletter 9:2 (1994), 6.

What's in a Name?

When the 1960s ended, San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district reverted to high rent, and many hippies moved down the coast to Santa Cruz. They had children and got married, too. But they didn't name their children Melissa or Brett. People in the mountains around Santa Cruz grew accustomed to their children playing Frisbee with little Time Warp or Spring Fever. And eventually Moonbeam, Earth, Love and Precious Promise all ended up in public school. That's when the kindergarten teachers first met Fruit Stand. Every fall, according to tradition, parents bravely apply name tags to their children, kiss them good-bye and send them off to school on the bus. So it was for Fruit Stand. The teachers thought the boy's name was odd, but they tried to make the best of it. "Would you like to play with the blocks, Fruit Stand?" they offered. And later, "Fruit Stand, how about a snack?" He accepted hesitantly. By the end of the day, his name didn't seem much odder than Heather's or Sun Ray's. At dismissal time, the teachers led the children out to the buses. "Fruit Stand, do you know which one is your bus?" He didn't answer. That wasn't strange. He hadn't answered them all day. Lots of children are shy on the first day of school. It didn't matter. A teacher leaned over and lifted the child's name tag. The teachers had instructed the parents to write the names of their children's bus stops on the reverse side of their name tags. The teacher simply turned over the tag. There, neatly printed, was the word, "Anthony." [Luanne Oleas in Salinas, CA, Reader's Digest]

Forget the Duck!

Two young children were visiting their grandparents for the summer. Johnny was given his first slingshot. He practiced shooting in the woods, but he missed everything he aimed at.

As he returned to his Grandma's back yard, however, he spied her pet duck. It wasn't the only duck she kept, but it was her favorite. On an impulse, he took aim and let it fly. This time he didn't miss. His stone struck and killed the duck.

The boy panicked. He didn't mean to hurt the bird - he was even sure he would miss! But he had killed it. His panic grew to desperation and he hid the duck in the woodpile, only to look up and see his sister watching him. Sally had seen it all, but she said nothing to her grandparents.

After lunch that day Grandma said, "Sally, let's wash the dishes."

Sally said, "Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today. Didn't you, Johnny?" She looked straight at him and whispered, "Remember the duck!" So Johnny did the dishes.

Later, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing. Grandma said, "I'm sorry, but I need Sally to help make supper." Sally smiled and said, "That's all taken care of, Grandma. Johnny wants to do it." Again she whispered, "Remember the duck!" So Johnny stayed while Sally went fishing.

Johnny did both his chores and Sally's for several days, until, finally, he could stand it no longer. He confessed to Grandma that he'd killed the duck.

His Grandma looked at him and said, "I know, Johnny." She gave him a big hug and added, "I was standing at the window and saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. I just wondered how long you would let Sally make a slave of you."

Johnny's Grandmother was more ready to forgive than he was even to ask for forgiveness. We, too, are surrounded by more grace than we may realize. But a disturbing inner voice often whispers, "Remember the duck! Remember the duck!" Some people are so busy being enslaved by this inner voice that they will never allow themselves to be forgiven.

Maybe it's time to forget the duck! Forget the duck...and be free.

[Story found on Steve Goodier's Spiritual Support System website, lectionary reading for March 9, 2008)

The Message of the Cross

Two brothers, who had never agreed on much of anything, finally had a conversation about the thing they agreed on least of all:

“The message of the cross is foolishness!” said one brother. “And you, my brother, are a fool! You claim allegiance to this God who came to earth and lived among us. But what happened to him, in the end? He was crucified! On a cross! First they beat him until the blood covered him. Then they took nails and drove them into his wrists. They put him up on a cross to die a slow, humiliating death. And he died.

I ask you, what kind of God is that? What kind of God cannot even save himself from a human execution?

I’ll grant you that this Jesus of yours was an influential man in his time. Sure, he spoke like a prophet and gathered a following. But look at what happened at the end. Your precious Bible tells you that even his closest followers deserted him. Because they saw the truth of his weakness. They saw that it all ended on a cross. What kind of a God is that? And what kind of a fool are you?”

His brother replied, “You are right, my brother. I am a fool. What you say makes perfect sense, and no eloquent words from me will change that. But I know that the message of the cross is the power of God. Because I know that only an extraordinary God would allow himself to be crucified. Only a God who loved humanity so deeply would refrain from saving himself. Only a God whose power is unimaginable would allow himself to be killed in this way. You are right. It makes no sense. But that is the power of the cross. And you are wrong, so wrong, my brother, when you say that it all ended on a cross.”