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Pastor’s Weekly Email
November 14, 2008
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mailto:scotpeg1@earthlink.net
THE MARK OF THE NAILS
A few years ago, just
before I left my position at Pine Island UMC and was
appointed to Asbury UMC here in Maitland, Peggy and I had
the joy of having two of our grandchildren, Kyleigh and
Nathan come visit. What a pleasure it was to have them.
Nathan is so inquisitive and every activity is an exciting
new adventure for him. He is so full of life that he
constantly asks a stream of questions about things that we
are doing. Nathan is visually impaired so it is important
for us to explain in detail all that is going on around him.
His limited vision only allows him to take in things
visually within a short distance. We gladly do that out of
the overwhelming love that we have for him. And, of course,
Kyleigh, who was nearing her-teenage years at the time is a
delight because she is so gracious and grace-filled. She
is a straight “A” student and a nimble-footed dancer of
immense potential. Peggy and I are so proud of her. She
and Nathan both are the product of a “good raising” from a
devoted mother and father.
While Nathan and
Kyleigh were visiting it just so happened that an Ecumenical
Farewell Service for Father Tom, the Catholic priest on the
Island, was scheduled to take place at the Episcopal
Church. That meant that Kyleigh and Nathan would have to go
to church with us that evening. Peggy and I at the time
were long removed from having little ones to take care of in
these types of settings where you must ask a very active,
effusive, talkative child of six to be still and silent for
an hour. And on top of that, when they arrived at the
church, Peggy wanted to sit in the back, like a good
Methodist, but Nathan wanted to sit on the front row so that
he could see. She could not turn him down, but beads of
sweat began to form on her brow – Nathan on the front row of
church. It would have made me sweat but I, fortunately, was
participating in the service so I sat in the Chancel and
watched Peggy masterfully taking care of this energetic
bundle of motion.
He was fascinated by
the organ and the sounds that it made, especially when the
organist pushed a stop that caused the instrument to make a
deep timbering timpani sound in accompaniment to a patriot
tune. As the service progressed Nathan made his way into
Peggy’s lap and listened attentively as the Lutheran pastor
gave the evening homily. Of course, Nathan would
occasionally murmur quietly under his breath an emphasized
word that came from the preacher’s mouth. Perhaps it was
his way of saying “amen.” He was very well behaved and it
certainly was a joy having the grandchildren there on that
special evening.
As I watched Nathan
there on the front row sitting with Peggy during the
service, it brought back some interesting memories of me, my
mother, and church. When I was about Nathan’s age I was not
always as well behaved in church as he was. My poor mother
had three children to contend with during the long hour of
worship there at Grace Church in Sanford. My parents
believed in Sunday School, so I had to sit quietly through
the Sunday School hour and then sit through another hour or
longer of worship. It was torture. It was more than should
ever have been asked of a hyperactive boy who would rather
have crawled under the seats from one end of the church to
the other as I pretended that I was in the jungle hunting
wild game. I longed to be set free from the seat. My
imagination could think of a hundred more exciting scenarios
than sitting still for an hour while some man droned on for
what seemed an eternity about things I could not understand.
Needless to say, I was
a restless child during worship. I wiggled and wiggled, and
then wiggled some more. I tried to find numerous ways to
pass the longest hour of the week. The clock in the back of
the church just seemed to stand still; it moved slower than
a two- hundred car freight trained pulled by a team of
Clydesdales. The more the time dragged on, the more
restless I became and the more I wiggled, until finally I
could build up the courage to whisper out loud for everyone
around my mom to hear, “How much longer!” That was when I
would normally feel the “nails.” My mom would give me that
unforgettable look of impatient consternation that was a
warning shot across the bow, and then there was the squeeze
of the wrist with her long fingernails. It would get my
attention, and you would think that I would get the message
to quiet down. But then, being the impatient child I was, I
would test the waters again, only a little louder, “Is he
about through yet?” That was usually the point in the
service that I would get the “stigmata,” only it was a
“stig-mama.” The marks of the nails would get imprinted
deep in my little wrists, and then I would know that I had
hit a nerve and there would soon follow those chilling
words, “Wait till we get home!” I knew what that meant.
Not only was I going to bear the marks of the nails, but my
rear was also going to bear the mark of the switch.
Fortunately, I learned very quickly that mom had a short
memory or a lot of grace, one or the other, because I seldom
got the switch at home unless I had been really bad in
church, which I was fully capable of being. I tell Peggy
that I could always know how bad I had been in church by how
long my mother’s nail prints lasted on my wrist.
She had her hands full
with me, as well as my brother and sister. We were active
kids and full of the devil. But my mother and my father
made sure that we were in church. Every Sunday we were in
Sunday School and church and as we got older, MYF. Faith
was important to them and they instilled it the hearts of
their children. Most of all, they lived it out by how they
loved us, disciplined us, and supported us through all the
highs and lows and joys and sorrows of our lives. I am
proud to be the product of a Christian home where love was
demonstrated in everyday experiences. Faith was more than a
hypothetical; it was the plum line of how we were to live.
Nathan brought back a
flood of memories as he rested in Peggy’s arms there at that
Ecumenical Service -- wonderful memories of home and faith
and unconditional love. I hope you are building those kinds
of memories in the lives of your children and your
grandchildren and the lives of the children here at church.
See you in church.
Scott
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Scotpeg1@earthlink.net
Sermon for
Sunday, November 16th
The Man Whose
Faith Amazed Jesus Luke 7:1-10 |
