From the Schoolhouse
She approached me nervously in the middle of class, and I expected a new round of fireworks. She had tried to embarrass me in front of all the kids a few weeks ago. Her charges were unfounded but nonetheless unleashed with a fury that belied her small stature. Her public vitriol came out of nowhere like a bolt from the angry hand of Zeus. I had no quarrel with her at all. None. And yet she had erupted and the air still seemed darkly clouded these few weeks later. She had stopped coming to my class since the barrage, and frankly, I was happy for the respite.
And now she suddenly appeared out of the mist curling her little finger, summoning me to the hall outside the door–away from the others. I agreed and followed still befuddled about the whole incident unable to find the cause for the effect.
She was alone. Before, the day she flung the bolt, she had gathered a small cadre of supporters who had backed her up, who had fueled the warrior within her. Now she stood a little forlorn–alone.
Before I could say anything, she looked up at me, lips quivering, searching for some verbal key that would unlock the prison doors. And then the apology came with a sweet simplicity. The words had a measured cadence laden with sincerity, but nonetheless difficult to release. She struggled, but she did it. She apologized.
I immediately stuck out my hand. We shook. I told her I was proud of her for the courage to come and say these words. And then with such ease, she shed the mantle of Zeus, discarded her quiver of bolts, and skipped off down the hall happy again.
From the Pulpit
I was impressed Sunday morning to learn that everyone still remembered their multiplication tables. My sermon had quite a bit of math and I was just testing everyone’s core knowledge on the subject. Pretty sharp group! I still haven’t figured out how the math of the text worked itself out. We had two fish and five loaves and 200 denarii (the cost of the meal if the disciple’s purchased it) and 5000 men standing by the lake hungry and 12 baskets of leftovers. Now that’s some math. I guess that’s where we’re just going to have the use the word ‘miracle’. (Do; you believe in miracles)?
It had been quite a day for Jesus and the disciples. They had just heard the news of John the Baptist’s beheading by Herod. And so the Master urged them all to join Him at a “lonely place” on the other side of the Sea of Galilee to recover and grieve. But the masses heard about it and rushed to meet them there. So much for rest. And then the math started.
From the Pew
As I was shaking hands before the service started I noticed Diane Sterling had a couple of grandkids sitting in little bundles beside her. (My eyes aren’t that good). Are those kids? I paused and tried to focus because the bundles were a bit lumpy and formless. That’s when I was glad I had not asked her to introduce me. Sitting snuggled up next to her were several netted bags of plastic Easter eggs. Huge bags. Scores of eggs. That’s when I put it all together. Diane had invited everyone over to her place in April for the annual Easter egg hunt and these were the eggs she had purchased for the occasion. Special thanks to the Sterling family for hosting this event. (You just never know what you might see in a church pew).
Thanks, Linda Nyborg for your delicious chicken dish. It was perfect on a cold night.
See all of you soon.