Short Story

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Without a story in a sermon, a preacher loses 80% of the congregation. An illustration that is sports-related perks the ears of three-fourths of the men in the pews. Deep truth seems to stick better when associated with a word picture. We like stories.

“Jesus was one of the world’s supreme masters of the short story.” (William Barclay)

The Master told over 30 stories, or parables, as recorded in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. Parables are defined as “earthly stories with a heavenly meaning”, but the listener has to engage and discover that meaning. Truth won’t be found by audience members who are too lazy to think.

I don’t think the point of some of His parables dawned on people until they were walking home wrestling with what He said. Jesus used story as a way of forcing people to rethink and reexamine spiritual truth.

Jon Ritner, Positively Irritating

Jesus’ stories were spontaneous, often spoken to crowds of people but sometimes told to His twelve disciples alone. When reading these passages in the Bible, it’s important to see what prompted Jesus to tell the story, to look back and see what led up to the moment. Matthew 13 is an example of how this scene is set up for the Parable of the Sower.

The chapter starts with “That same day…” What same day? What else happened that day?

It’s possible that Matthew 12:1 is the beginning of that day. If so, that was one crazy day.

Jesus and his disciples were called out by the Pharisees for harvesting grain on the Sabbath. Then, Jesus healed a man with a shriveled hand in the synagogue, causing the Pharisees to begin plotting how they might kill Jesus. There was another run-in with Pharisees and they attributed Jesus’ miracles to Satan. Jesus called them a bunch of snakes. The Pharisees demanded to see another miracle and Jesus told them they were wicked. Finally, Jesus’ mother and brothers showed up, creating an awkward situation.

Jesus “went out of the house and sat by the lake”. Maybe He needed a moment. Things were ramping up with the religious establishment and His family. From that point on, Jesus mainly taught the crowds using parables.

I noticed two things in Matthew 13:1-2 as a set-up to the parable.

First, Jesus “went out” (verse 1) in the same way the farmer in His story “went out” (verse 3). They were both sowing seed.

And second, Jesus sat down in a boat and the people in the crowd stood for the teaching. “We would have less sleeping in church if this arrangement still prevailed.” (Charles Spurgeon)

Next: The Parable of the Sower

Storytime

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The book “One-Minute Bedtime Stories” must have been written by a tired parent. As a mother of four and now a Nonnie of eleven, I can’t imagine a one-minute story satisfying too many three year olds. But then, I’m a sucker for “one more…please Nonnie,” even when it’s clearly a nighttime stall tactic.

The “one minute” idea caught on and soon all kinds of similar books hit the market.

  • The One Minute Manager
  • The One Minute Cure
  • The One Minute Workout
  • The One Minute Millionaire

Then the fad crossed over into Christian publishing and some titles made me cringe.

  • One Minute Prayers for Busy People
  • One Minute With God: Sixty Supernatural Seconds That Will Change Your Life

I’m not against one minute prayers — I pray them all day long — but I am not comfortable with relegating God to a one-minute time slot in my schedule. It takes more than sixty seconds a day to develop a vital, intimate relationship.

For the next ten weeks, my Bible Reading Plan is taking me to the Gospel of Matthew. I’ll be sitting down for “storytime” with Jesus, looking at several of His parables.

One thing I noticed as I perused the passages I’ll be reading —
Jesus told very short stories.

The Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:3-9) takes 47.24 seconds. The Parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the longest, clocking in at 2 minutes 32 seconds. Some of Jesus’ stories are only one or two sentences — easily less than one minute.

It seems Jesus didn’t have a problem telling one-minute stories.
But they have given us plenty to think about for millennia.

Would you like to join me? Next week we’ll look at Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23.

Roadtrip

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PB and I took a road trip to Montana. We drove 80 mph across smooth blacktop highways. We pulled over occasionally to pick up snacks and fill the gas tank. We stopped for the night and enjoyed a comfortable air-conditioned room with a soft mattress and hot shower. Breakfast was prepared and ready for us in the morning. We passed the hours by listening to audio books, podcasts and ball games.

As we sped down the interstate, I couldn’t help but think about my great-great grandparents, who journeyed from Wisconsin to Montana in 1886. They headed west to claim 160 acres of free land as a result of the Homestead Act, enacted by Congress four years earlier. There were no paved four-lane highways, no rest areas with flush toilets and no Holiday Inn Express hotels with hot breakfasts.

If Grandpa John and Grandma Harriet could see us now, they would be in awe at the speed in which we travel and the luxury we enjoy along the way. Life sure has changed since 1886.

Thankfully, some things haven’t changed —
things like mountains, rivers, and the famous Big Sky.

“Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days…
in whose light everything seems equally divine,
opening a thousand windows to show us God.”
John Muir

“You created the mountains by your power,
and demonstrated your strength.”
Psalm 65:6

Intermission

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I’m taking a break for a couple weeks.
Stand up and stretch.
Grab a snack.
Chat among yourselves.
Savor early summer days.
Soak up slow summer evenings.
Say some prayers.
Sing some songs.
Walk in the woods.
TTFN!

Reminder

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“Kindness without truth is not kind.
Truth without kindness is not true.”
Martin Schleske

Sometimes I tell people what they want to hear,
softly glossing over points of contention in order to keep the peace.

This is not being kind.

Sometimes I tell people what they don’t want to hear,
making my points with hard conviction even if it stirs up discord.

This is not being true.

“God wants us to grow up,
to know the whole truth and tell it in love.”
Ephesians 4:15

1,000 Words

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I like to read books about writing. And I’ve read a whole slew of them. I’ve noticed that they are beginning to sound the same, so I guess there’s only so much that can be said about the craft of writing. You just have to sit down and do it.

One author proposed that success as a writer was guaranteed if this bit of advice was followed:

Write 1000 words a day,
five days a week,
for the rest of your life.

This writing expert said it was the magic formula to honing the skills needed to be a real author. It didn’t matter what you wrote, or when you wrote, or how you wrote. Just punch out 1000 words every day.

I took the bait.

The first morning, I printed out a sheet with the expert’s lofty goal that would become my sure-fire path to success. I started typing. After a few hundred words, I began to panic. I didn’t have anything else to say. I typed out my grocery list, the weather report, and what I planned to eat for breakfast. I included the date (spelling out the numbers) and even typed “Word Count” for two more words. It was clear that I wasn’t going to be able to write 1000 words every day for the rest of my life.

So I knocked it down to 500 words, five days a week, for the rest of my life.

The second day, I got a late start and needed to get to an appointment, so I skipped my writing time. I decided to cut the “five days a week” down to a more manageable three days a week, for the rest of my life.

By the third day, I was a little ticked at the expert for bossing me around and telling me how to run my life, so I put my foot down and made my own rules.

Instead of setting unrealistic goals, I’ve decided to adopt King Solomon’s wise counsel:

“The Teacher searched to find just the right words,
and what he wrote was upright and true.”
Ecclesiastes 12:10

I am still a fledgling, unpublished, obscure writer, searching for the right words. But if I can find a few upright and true words along the way, I’ll be satisfied.

By the way, there are three hundred and ninety eight words in this blog post. Word Count. 400!

Fallow Ground

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Sometimes I’m wrong.

Sometimes I’m wrong for a long time. Like forty years.

That’s a long stretch to be off target.

Hoo-boy, was I ever relieved to see my error and fix my faulty thinking.

Being corrected is like leaving the chiropractor after being adjusted.
Freedom in movement once again!
Achy joints are released!
Foggy brain is clearer!
Spine is straighter!

Sometimes God has to put me on the table and give me a good adjustment. That happened recently as I read Hosea 10:12.

“Break up your fallow ground,
for it is time to seek the Lord,
until He comes and showers His righteousness on you.”

All this time I’ve misunderstood the words “fallow ground”.

I used to think fallow ground looked like this:

I mistakenly assumed this barren landscape represented my hard, dried up heart. I understood the command to break up the fallow ground as a call to repentance. I was supposed to invite the sharp blades of God’s plow to cut through the crusty surface. The sin I was harboring down deep needed to be rooted out.

It sounded painful.

Now I know better.
This is actually what fallow ground looks like:

As it turns out, fallow ground is land that is plowed, but intentionally left alone for a period of time in order to restore its fertility and future fruitful production. It’s a season of rest in order to be revived.

You’d think a farmer’s daughter would have known this.

I’ve never been so happy to find out I was wrong.

My heart, I feared, was parched and spent.
New life, it seemed, could not be found,
Until, one day, I learned it meant,
These dormant times are fallow ground.

Dear Amos

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I like to write letters to dead people.

I can say anything I want without the risk of miscommunication or misunderstanding.

Writing a letter forces me to articulate some thoughts I didn’t know I was thinking.

Recently, I wrote a letter to James, the half-brother of Jesus.

A while ago, I had Mary and Martha write letters to each other. Putting myself in their shoes helped me see things with fresh insight.

Several years ago, I wrote a missive to Amos, the Old Testament prophet.

Dear old Amos was tending his sheep and trimming his sycamore trees one day when God called him to deliver some scathing words of judgment to the nations.

I grew up around lots of good farm folks, so in my imagination I see Amos as an older man in bib overalls. He doesn’t have a seminary degree, but he’s a faithful member of the church in town. Amos is a salt-of-the-earth citizen who loves God, his neighbors and the land. He obeys God’s call and goes out to announce judgment on Israel’s elites. He has to say some tough things to people who don’t appreciate it. They refuse to heed his warnings, but Amos the farmer warns them anyway.

After reading his book, I wrote him a letter.

Dear Amos,

Were you anxious to get back to the farm after all that prophesying? You delivered so many words full of condemnation and lament and warning. Did it take a toll on you? After all, shepherds are used to long and lonely days of quiet out on the range with no one to talk to but sheep. Was it a hard task, to be obedient to the call of God to speak His words to rebellious nations? But you did it, without arguing or procrastinating. You just did it. I bet you were oh-so glad to complete the task and get back to the farm.

I have marked many favorite lines from your book. I especially like that you ended with some hopeful words, much needed after the litany of doom and gloom. I’m sure it was a relief for you to sign off on a good note, using words like “raise up”, “repair”, and “restore”.

I guess it’s goodbye for now, Amos. I probably won’t be back for a while. You are an Old Testament minor prophet, and you know what that means — not the most popular of devotional readings. Thank you, dear sir, for being faithful to the Lord and obedient to His call. I admire you for standing up in a God-less culture and not backing off when they tried to shut you down. You spoke in your own gritty way on the Lord’s behalf. You said what had to be said, plain and simple, with no apology.

I hope you were able to return to your farm in peace. Blessings to you, brave trimmer of trees and courageous keeper of sheep.

Love,
Dinah

Joys and Concerns

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“Does anyone have any joys or concerns?”

PB asked this question every Sunday morning, and people usually responded with various prayer requests.

“Pray for my grandma who is having surgery this week.”

“Pray for the safety of those traveling during the holidays.”

“Pray for my co-worker who got bad news.”

One Sunday was different, though.

A member raised his hand and said, “My car got a big scratch along the side of it last week while in the church parking lot and it must have been someone here. I think whoever did that should come forward and fix it.”

After that, we called this special time during our worship service
“Joys, Concerns and Accusations.”

I’ve been thinking about that word — joy. Following my Bible Reading Plan, I’m spending the next several weeks looking at scriptures that contain the word joy. I’m only two weeks in, but already I’ve noticed something surprising.

So far, the verses on joy also include words like these:
pain,
tears,
grief,
anguish,
weeping,
mourning.

Joy and sorrow seem to go hand in hand.

We will come rejoicing, bringing in the abundant harvest of sheaves only after we have sown seeds of tears. (Psalm 126:6)

We will experience seasons of painful labor and anguish, but eventually it will give way to the joyful birth of something new. (John 16:21)

Our tears of sorrow are not ignored or overlooked or wasted. They are seeds that sink into dark places but, in time, they will produce a harvest of joy.

Mini-Resurrections

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I woke up this morning.
My heart was beating.
My blood was flowing.
I was alive!

After being dead to the world in deep sleep for hours,
my eyes opened and I arose from my bed.

This waking and rising that happens every 24 hours —

— it is resurrection practice!

— it is a daily reminder that He rose from deep death!

— it is a built-in rehearsal for the raising of our bodies that is to come!

— it is a re-enacting of the greatest victory ever won!

— it is an innate, indwelling circadian rhythm that stirs us to wake up!

— it is an opportunity to receive the breath of life for another day!

— it is an invitation to leave the darkness and walk in the light!

Lord, may we be awakened to the wonder of Resurrection and Life.
Every day.
May we rise up and revel in our own mini-resurrections.
Every morning.

“Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead and Christ will shine on you.” Eph. 5:14

His heart beats, His blood begins to flow,
Waking up what was dead a moment ago.
And His heart beats, now everything is changed,
‘Cause the blood that brought us peace with God
Is racing through His veins.
And His heart beats.

He took one breath,
And put death to death.
Where is your sting, O grave?
How grave is your defeat?
I know, I know His heart beats.

His Heart Beats, Andrew Peterson