PIZZA GARDEN!

Food Stories in the Bible is the theme for Summer Sunday School for children at Florence. TASTE AND SEE -- GOD IS GOOD!



The 'BODY' Inter-generational Sunday School class has been working for weeks to prepare a bed for the children to have a vegetable garden. Weeds and even a tree were removed and mulch hauled in. Then Kathy Fenton-Miller gathered a plan, plants and tools for us to begin.




We have a "pizza garden" -- tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, basil, oregano, parsley, rosemary and chives! There are four "slices" of the garden and a team to tend each one.

NOTHING SLICE:
Talyn and his grandparents, Jane and Charlie.

PEPPERONI SLICE:
Micah and his dad, Luke, and teacher, Nora.

CHEESE SLICE:
Sean and his grandfather, Gary, and Skylar and her pastor, Nina

YUM YUM SLICE:

Haley and her great aunt, Dallie,
and Sean, too, since Dallie is his grandmother!

Today -- SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 2011 -- we planted!

STORIES OF GROWING UP AT FLORENCE CHURCH 1950-1970

Jane Bowers shared her memories of childhood at Florence Church in the 1950's and 1960's, and her passion for the children who are part of our church today.

As you know our Church is celebrating its 80^th birthday this month. The Florence Church of the Brethren began in 1931, that was 5 years after my mother, Mary was born. I have asked her about her first memories of the church. She said that her first memory was walking to church barefoot with her neighbor girl, Doris Bullock. She also remembers watching children in the nursery during Sunday school just like she does now.

I also have memories of this church when I was a child. But first I want to tell you of my first memory of when I knew that God existed. It was late at night when my mom was putting us to bed. Nora and I shared a bedroom. Mom always insisted that we say a prayer before we went to bed.

That prayer was always the same. I want you to try to imagine me as about 4 or 5 years old (about Talyn’s age). Please indulge me as I repeat that childhood prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake

(...Scared look as I glance around...)

I pray the Lord my soul to take

Watch over Mommy and Daddy and Norie

And Georgie and Baby Frank

And keep them safe through the night

Amen

Then I would ask Mom to leave the night light on and then she would say:

Good Night

Sleep Tight

Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

(again a look of fear around the room)

No wonder I needed a night light, talking about dying in my sleep and bed bugs that bite. This is quite traumatic for a child of only 4 or 5.

But all kidding aside, it was very important to my mother that we knew about God at a young age. The fact that I was praying at that age meant I knew there was a God, for that was who I was praying to. I knew I had to be good to go to heaven someday to be with Jesus. I also knew all about Jesus.

But Mom didn’t read the Bible to us, and I never saw my Dad read the Bible at all. So where did all of the Bible stories I knew come from?

That is where this church comes in to this picture. Of course, I can’t remember the first time I entered this very room. But I know my mother brought me to church when I was a baby. My memory of the church begins about the time I was 5 years old. I am going to ask you to use your imagination again. I want you to see with your eyes what I as a child saw when I entered this building.

We are going back in time to 1954. The Florence Church of the Brethren was just this building that is now the sanctuary. The entrance door was here in the front of the sanctuary as( Glen said last week). The door was where the stone cross is on the front of the church. The front of the church was where the rear of the church is now. And there were two rows of pews with an isle down the middle. That was always the same. When you entered the church you fist entered a hall way. On each side of the hallway there was a stairway that went upstairs. On each side of the stairway there was a class room downstairs. Upstairs there were two class rooms, one on each side and a landing in the middle that some times was used as a class room. Those four rooms were used for the children and youth. The adults always had their Sunday school class in the back pews in the sanctuary.

Oh yes, don’t forget our luxurious bathroom. The Men’s and Lady’s accommodations were at the rear of the Church (out side and two holers).

Then men and boys usually wore suits to worship on Sunday morning. If it was a hot day they might have worn a white shirt and tie and dress pants. The women and girls always wore dresses. It wasn’t acceptable for us to wear slacks to church. Some of the older women wore a covering on their heads. My Mother or Grandma Featherstone always brought us to Church, but my Dad or Grandfather never went to church. I never question why other men went to church with their families. I just knew that men in our family did not go to church.

There was another difference in Florence at that time. According to some records I was looking at recently, the attendance for Sunday school in the year 1954 for students under the age of 21was higher than those for adults. The total for those students under 21 was 41 and the adult were 15. It has reversed for us today. We are a Congregation of older adults. We have only a few young members with young children.

The memory I have of this building isn’t the most important memories that I have of this Church. The most important memories are of the people that were always here every Sunday to teach us children. My early memories of this church are Sunday school and the teachers (always women) who were always here for us with a story from the Bible, all the stories that kept us coming back each week to hear more. There was stories about Adam and Eve, and Noah, and Moses, and Daniel in the Lion’s Den, and David and Goliath. And of course, they taught us about Jesus, the most important lesson in our lives. Some times we wonder if the young ones remember these stories. They do, at least I did.

One of the most unusual things I remember is the attendances charts. They always had a Bible picture and stickers that related to that picture. The one I remember was of a shepherd tending his sheep. The stickers were sheep. These stickers were not like the peel off stickers we have today. You had to lick them. Like all kids we thought they tasted good. And we always wanted to be there every week because we wanted to get the most stickers on our charts.

These Sunday school teachers at this church nurtured the seeds that our Mother planted at home. They were always here. We could always trust them no matter what. Our mother always made sure we got to church and these teachers helped us at an early age to be interested in the Bible and they taught us about Jesus. The children we have here at Florence now will remember Sunday School and some of the stories, but most important of all they will remember Jesus. In Isaiah 54: 13 it says all your children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the prosperity of your children.

As a child I never really felt comfortable during worship service. Yes, it was important that we learned to set still during the message. Yes, we liked to listen to the songs. But the rest of the service was very hard for us to set through. Some times my mother would only bring us for Sunday school because it was hard for her to keep 4 children quiet during the worship service. There was no child care during worship service at that time.

In Luke 18: 16 Jesus said, “Let the children come unto me, and do not stop them. For it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. ” This scripture reminds me of the time when my Mother and Grandmother were having a discussion at my Grandmothers house after church one Sunday. One of us children had been noisy in church or misbehaved in some way. We had been reprimanded by one of the members of the congregation and someone talked to our Mother about it. Mom was asking the advice of her mother. And Grandma said, “Remember Jesus said, “Let the Children come unto me.’’ After that time I began to feel comfortable in worship because Jesus would have wanted us there.

Another memory here at Florence was summer Bible School. We usually had the same teachers we had for Sunday school but there were usually other children from the area that would attend. As children we always looked forward to vacation Bible school because we were country kids. There wasn’t always a lot to do. This provided entertainment as well as learning. In later years we had Bible School at Ruby Reed’s pond.

When I was 8 years old my Grandmother, My Mother, my sister Nora, and my Aunt Aileen were going to be baptized. I wanted to be baptized, too. I didn’t want to be left behind. We had learned in Sunday School that it was important to be baptized if we wanted to go to Heaven. I told our pastor that I was old enough to decide for myself if I wanted to be baptized. And I guess I answered all of his questions to his satisfaction because the day the others were baptized I was baptized also. The baptism was performed by Pastor Glenn Rummel of the Florence Church of the Brethren on June 10, 1956 at Fish Lake.

Rev. Rummel was the first Pastor I remember. . I felt sad when Mr. Rummel left our Church (That what we called him, Mr. Rummel). We would never have called him by his first name like the children do with Nina. It would have been disrespectful. How things have changed.

Our next pastor was Rev. Frank Mulligan. It was during this time that our first addition was added on. The addition was finished in 1964. We then had inside plumbing and flush toilets. We also had nicer, larger class rooms and a foyer. At this time Dallie was 4 years old.

After Rev. Mulligan , our next pastor was Rev. Galen Barkdol and his wife Birdie. They were the most adorable older couple. At this time I was in High School and wasn’t attending on a regular basis. Dallie remembers that when she was in elementary Rev. Barkdol had children stories during worship and also junior church in the basement that was usually led by Diane Oxender.

The church bus sometimes picked Dallie up and other children whose parents did not attend church or who could not make it that Sunday. The Church bus actually was a large van that held about 8-10 children. Dave Reed, Ruby’s son, drove the church bus at that time. Dallie said she also remembers going skating and weekend gatherings with other Church of the Brethren youth in Indiana. She also remembers the youth camp-outs at Lindsly’s.

Before the Barkdols left Florence, Charlie and I were married and had begun our Family. Our next pastor was Dana Hartong. When I was an adult I wasn’t sure if I understood fully the commitment I had made as a child so I was baptized again September 1, 1974 by Rev Dana Hartong at Ruby Reeds Pond. Charlie was baptized on that day also. But that is another story for another time.

Other memories from Florence is the annual pancake supper held in the church basement and the annual Florence Township Mother and Daughter Banquet that was sometimes hosted by Florence Church of the Brethren and also held in the church basement. We also had an annual church campout weekend at Ruby’s pond.

I am so happy that we have children’s time during worship. And songs that are special for them. This is something they will remember and they will feel that worship is a place for them also. Who knows, one of them could be leading worship or singing or giving the message someday. With the encouragement they get now, they can be a welcomed addition to our congregation when they become adults.

The future of the little children is in our hands. They learn love, respect, and social skills from their parents. They learn to read and write and math from their teachers at school. It is our responsibility here at Florence to teach them about Jesus and the Bible. Some of these children will never hear Bible stories at home... I remember when I first started bringing Skylar to Church; she said who is this Jesus guy they are always talking about. Now you have heard her talk about Jesus during children’s time and she is learning more every Sunday.

Yes, things have changed a lot since the time I was that small child at the back of the church. Did I ever think at that time I would be up here on a Sunday morning during worship giving a message? No way. That was only for other people that were different than me. I know that what I learned in those early years of Sunday School set the foundation of my faith. The years that I spent here, as a youth and a young adult with children of my own, were years of learning and growth.

And these recent years when I returned to almost a new congregation have been very important also, especially The Journey Program and encouragement from Nina and support from all of you. But I will never stop learning and growing in Christ.

Bill Kostlevy, Charlie and Jane Bowers (back)

at the wedding of Tammy Bowers to Calvin.

THE STORY OF FLORENCE CHURCH

In the Easter Season we are still listening to the Jesus Story -- as the threads of the Risen Christ have been woven into the history of Florence Church. This May marks the 80th anniversary of Florence Church of the Brethren.

On Sunday 15 May, Glenn Oxender told stories of his grandparents, George and Bessie Sherck. George was the first pastor of Florence Church at its inception in 1931. I share his stories and photos below.

History of Florence Church 1931-1950
Written by Glenn Oxender for Florence Church Service
May 15, 2011

[Glenn opened by singing...]

“Johnny Get Your Gun, Your Sword and Pistol
and We’ll all take a Ride to Bristol;
Johnny forgot his gun, sword and pistol
so he couldn’t go along to Bristol.

“Sing says the donkey to his little lass,
and if you don’t sing any better I won’t give you any grass,
‘Hee Haw, Hee Haw, Hee Haw, Hee Haw!’”

Now what do these little songs have to do with the beginning of Florence Church. These were little songs taught to me when I was pretty young as I set on my Grandfathers lap, the retired minister from Florence Church.

Now that was in the 1950’s so let’s back the story up to see how the church began on May 8, 1931 in a little old brick building built in 1876 in Florence Township. Every good story begins with a leading gentleman and two lovely ladies as does the beginning of Florence Church.



Now the story begins with a handsome man named George born in 1879 in Florence Township, who met a lovely lady named Bessie Schrock from the Bristol area of Indiana. George you see had moved northwest of Middlebury and attended Pleasant Valley Church of the Brethren. Unfortunately, George was four years older than Bessie so he could hardly wait to court the beautiful Bessie. However the day came and George dated Bessie and they were married in 1901.



George and Bessie Sherck got very involved in the Middlebury community in both farming and even owning the hardware. Both had a deep heritage in the Church of the Brethren so when they moved into Middlebury without a church, they were involved in starting the Middlebury Church of the Brethren in 1911.



George and Bessie were blessed with five daughters, who after becoming farm hands, went to Manchester College and became teachers.



In 1916 the family moved to a farm west of Middlebury where the present day Essenhaus is and continued farming. Nobody knows for sure but God, but I believe here is where the seeds of the beginning of Florence came from because George in 1917 got so sick with the flu and pneumonia that he nearly died. His weaken condition required him to rent the farm out and seek a job in Shipshewana as the telephone company for three years. Here he attended the Lupold Church of the Brethren and became the ordained minister for this Shipshewana Church.

This church is where the second leading lady Lillian Reed, also known as Grandma Reed met George. No, she didn’t run away with the preacher, but she persuaded George to travel to Michigan and have evening revival meetings in the Oak Grove School House on Neaman Road. This courtship with Florence Township by revival meetings continued and Grandma Reed began Sunday school in the community. Eventually the persuasive Grandma Reed enticed George and Bessie to sell their farm and move to a farm on Engle Rd in Florence Township. After two years of Sunday schools and revivals the Florence Church of the Brethren was officially organized on May 8, 1931 by the Northern Indiana District.



Now George and Grandma Reed didn’t do it alone, because Bessie was always by the side of George in his ministry. Jim Tomlonson, a grandchild, describes the team like this, “My memories of Grandpa and Grandma’s religious and spiritual life made a strong impression on me. Of the two, she seemed to possess the stronger sense and understanding of God and the Christian walk. Why? Because she was a nurturer and Grandpa was the proclaimer. She worked with Grandpa as he prepared for Sunday Worship by helping to select scriptures and writing down his notes. I can image that they even ‘talked’ the sermon through before Sunday services. Another granddaughter describes her image of grandma setting down each Sunday morning with George and writing out the sermon in longhand at his desk in the kitchen.

How did Grandpa George preach? The oldest grandson describes him as having a strong presence in the pulpit. My brother puts it a little more strongly that he pounded the pulpit, spoke in a loud voice and sometimes gave sermons of the “Hell, Fire and Brimstone” nature. He would always begin by giving the announcements and then turning to Bessie and saying “Now Bessie did I miss anything?” Bessie would reply, “No George I think you have covered it!



The early church started and continued in the German Reformed building in the early 30’s. The building was one big open room with a potbelly stove in the back, a 16 inch high stage in the front with a piano and an ornate pulpit adorned with acorns. However when they wanted to add an interior two story set of 5 classrooms in back, they needed permission for the owners. There were no owners, so they got a 30 year lease for $3 from three former members of the Reformed church

The early charter members of Florence included our three main characters George, Bessie and Lillian plus Arthur and Nannie Reed, her son, and her husband Frank, the couples Russell and Kathryn Searer and Harry and Myrtle Oxender were appointed as original deacons, Russell and Alice Lantz, Mrs. John Boles, Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Hoyt and other family members.

The early Florence Church program had Sunday School at 10:00 am with a small opening by the SS Superintendent followed by 45 minutes of classes with the Worship Service at 11:00. Full communions were help in the sanctuary on four plain wooden tables. Pews were turned to the tables and linen clothes covered the tables until the meal. Feet washing, beef and sop meal with communion bread and cup followed and as a child seemed to last forever. They would have evening revivals for a week with guest pastors about twice a year.

A Harvest Festival in the Fall was celebrated with church in morning, dinner, and church in the afternoon. In fact I can remember when one of the stray balls from the game came through the stained glass window in the back. Business meetings were usually on Sunday evenings and in the later 40’s a summer Bible School was held each year. The Ladies had a Ladies Aid group that I believe met monthly and I’m sure Grandma Sherck and Alice Lantz were very active in the making of comforters and clothes. The men’s group plus some neighbors each year had a pop corn project that the profits went to the building fund for the next major improvement in 1956.



Both my brother and sister were baptized in a temporary tank in the front of the church by trine immersion as teenagers. Both say that you knew you were dunked when Grandpa George did the baptism. Also baptisms were held in Klinger Lake.

George Sherck was a strong man and was always involved in the “free ministry”. During his ministry he made his lively hood at farming 100 acres and building many barns in the area. My father and my older brother helped him many times. Wayne describes Grandpa’s skills as a carpenter as follows. “I marvel, more so today (2002), at how a man with an eighth grade education could take a carpenter’s square and lay out four walls of a barn on the ground. The wooden corner races, mortised wood tongues and grooves were all cut with the use of his wood tools, which were always very sharp. Many times I watched him put on his specs, sit on a log and sharpen tools with his file.



When the four sides were pinned with wooden pegs into one complete wall, the barn was ready to be raised. The raising was a big event for two reasons, because it took a big crew of neighbors to hoist the first end up in the air to a vertical position. Second the ridge up 30 or 40 feet high had to be attached with a 2x8 running the length of the building. Grandpa’s favorite activity was attaching the ridge. He would slide his fanny along the ridge pole and nail the top of the rafters in place. He would holler “bring on another rafter” to his crew until he had worked the entire length of barn some 50 feet distance.



Later he crafted round roofed barns that took some great skill to make the rounded rafters. The nearest one is the Ely barn just ¾ mile north of the church.



Grandpa was a carpenter and the grandchildren loved playing with his tools in the upper story of his granary and drilling holes in the floor. Many stories could be told of this fun loving man and some I would have to tell you outside of church. However one stands out with most grandchildren. Grandpa Sherck as a carpenter had some walnut trees sawed and he was drying them in the top of the corn crib. He sent my father Harry up to shake up the boards to get the rats out. However as the rats started running out, Grandpa used his full choke shot gun to try and destroy the rats. However, the result was a corn crib with many air conditioning holes in the roof.

Unfortunately this fun loving leading man grew older and in the late 40’s started the early stages of “hardening of the arteries” or Alzheimer’s as we call it today. Bessie had to go to the Florence Church Board and have them encourage George to retire in 1947.

The Florence Church had several guest speakers for a time and in 1948 the Rev. Glenn Rummel began the first part time paid pastorate at Florence. He built the small cement house just ½ mile southwest of the church and began his work. Glenn and his wife Martha with their two sons led Florence into the decade of the 50’s and left in 1956 to do mission work in Kentucky. Rev. Rummel was a very detailed pastor and kept a historical record of the events of the church with a file of his Sunday bulletins of each service. He and his wife were very dedicated to the community and the church. He exchanged detailed Christmas greetings with our family until he passed away at 99 years of age. Dianne and I still receive a Christmas letter from Merle their son each year asking about Florence Church.



We are now past the first two decades of the 50’s, but I would be remiss without sharing a little more about Bessie’s strong faith. George and Bessie moved to Goshen and celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary. However Bessie wasn’t done sharing her faith as described in this excerpt from a lady in West Goshen Church of the Brethren.



“Retirement wasn’t in Bessie’s vocabulary. In the year 1948 she inspired and encouraged the ladies to become more involved in several new areas in the work of the church. This resulted in organizing the “Women’s Work” with Bessie as the president. Since our church has always stuck to the ‘traditional’, it was difficult to make changes. But with her leadership and determination, new groups were formed including, Homebuilders, Bible Study, Peace and Temperance, Missions and relief sewing.

Bessie was very helpful in sharing God’s love by her spirit-filled devotions, her Sunday School teaching, and her ever day living. She made hundreds of little girls’ dresses making each one different and pretty with extra trimmings. Although, she suffered with arthritis for many years, she never left it get her down. She continued to play her organ, learn chapters of the Bible.

Dianne and I visited her in the nursing home after 1969 and asked her what she thought of placing a man on the moon. She wasn’t too excited because she said, “If God had wanted a man on the moon, then He would have put him there.”

Bessie was a very strong straight laced lady and when my father was courting her daughter Myrtle, he brought some rook cards for a game. She promptly put them in the stove and burned them. However that didn’t put out the fire because my father Harry was married to Myrtle by George Sherck at the Engle Road Farm in 1930.

Bessie’s favorite scripture was the 23nd Psalm and I will share with you today Florence’s first lady’s favorite devotion from her own handwriting and a description of the “Ideal Church”. I also will leave a collection of her handwritten devotions if you would like to browse them.



The 23th Psalm by Bessie Sherck

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want” I shall not want for anything but my shepherd. He is strong and wise and wonderful. And he loves me although he knows my faults, and even the sin and selfishness that beset me. He loves me for what I am, and when I am tired and weary.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures” In the lush green grass I rest and he stands guard over my thoughts so no disturbing ones enter in. I let go of my burdens and cares. I am still and know that he is God. When I am rested and refreshed and ready to start on earth’s journey again,

“He leadeth me besides the still waters.” I set there in the quiet evening and see the sun sink behind the mountains. In the golden hour my heart finds peace, my strivings cease and I surrender to his will. And then

“He restoreth my soul” Yes he takes my hand and holds it fast while we walk past the many forks in the road. How easily I could have chosen the wrong one, had He not been with me, but

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his names sake” It is a narrow path…but of how beautify!! The birds sing in the early morning while the grass is wet with dew; the sun shines and the air is fresh and pure; If I let go off the shepherd’s hand and wonder off and get lost in the deep forest of wilderness,

“Yes, though I walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil” He will seek me until he finds me. And when I grow weary and faint and falter because fear chokes me. And my vision fails me as the shadows grow deeper and darker then I remember

“For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” They protect me from all ills,

“Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies” Whose names are fear, worry, selfishness and insecurity. When they see me drink of gladness joy and eat of perfect peace they leave me and then

“Thou anointest my head with oil” The gentleness of his hands almost makes my heart burst asunder with happiness yes or yes

“My cup runneth over” It is too full now, I have room for no more. There is no limit to the abundance of gifts

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” As we walk along together one day at dusk---I shall come to the end of the road---I shall stop and far off in the distance I shall see a mansion---It is magnificent in its glory---It is a house not made with hands and only the seeing eye of the soul can see it.

I shall bow down and worship as my heart leaps with gladness All the song birds sing and little children laugh and sing and echo back into the chorus of the saints gone on before. All my yesterdays and all the many tomorrows I have forgotten

“I shall dwell in the house of the Lord”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grandma Sherck later in life wrote this devotional description named the “Ideal Church”

1. Enthusiastic church and Joyous
2. Bible believing
3. Unity and Love
4. Praying church
5. Ministers to needs of people
6. Reverent
7. Missionary Spirit
8. Generous church
9. Temperate church

This church can only become the ideal if it begins in me.
Amen

IN LOVING MEMORY OF GEORGE AND BESSIE SHERCK

Palm Sunday Tri-Monologues by Naomi, David and John Mark Wenger

Woman:

You probably know who I am, the perpetual bridesmaid; in everyone’s wedding but never married, yet! I’m the life of the party. Everyone likes to be with me. Everyone.

Even Jesus, that prophet from Galilee the rulers hated so much. He liked me. No, he loved me. But not like anyone else ever did. He did not want anything from me. He wanted me to be, well, good. Free from sin, you know.

But I never did anything really bad. They only said so to make me look foolish. But I am no one’s fool. I knew all about them, I listened to their secrets. I let them believe I was safe. But I played them all against one another. Then one day, I must have made one of them mad, because what happened could have been fatal.

It was the Feast of Booths. Everyone was living outdoors for a whole week; on the rooftops or in the inner courts of the biggest homes. Beautiful tents were everywhere. Food and wine was plentiful. There was music and dancing. Groups of us went from house to house helping ourselves to the rich food, playing silly games with the children, laughing at the antics of the drunken men, playing pranks and falling in with any scheme that promised to be fun.

The priests went about their dreary duties of sacrificing the 70 bulls, one for each of the nations of the world. Then came, the last day of the feast, the eighth day, the day when only one bull for all of Israel, God’s chosen, would be sacrificed and then the waters of the earth would be blessed for another year of good harvest. This was the best day and also the most fun, if you knew where to find it!

I was at Jesse’s house with a group of friends. He was drunk. He pulled me out of the crowd and into his tent. He sang me a silly song he had made up. Suddenly, two of Jesse’s “friends” rushed into the tent, grabbed me by the hair, dragged me out into Jesse’s courtyard, and started shouting horrible words at me. They called me a whore. They said I would die for destroying Jesse’s reputation. They pushed me around and got the whole crowd worked up against me. But what had I done that they had not? We were all being silly during the feast. The next day Jesse wouldn’t even remember what happened.

But, the next day these same men came and got me from my home and marched me to see a prophet they had some problem with. They were using me to get him to make some awful mistake that would allow them to kill him. They bartered my life for his. They lied about me to him, saying I had committed adultery and they lied about the law saying I would have to be stoned. [Even I know that stoning is reserved for those who commit adultery while engaged to be married. I had not had that good fortune. If I had done the deed, I should have been strangled instead. But I shudder to think of that.]

What did this prophet Jesus, say? Well, he could see right through them. And at first he did not want to be part of their schemes. Then, when they kept pestering him, he looked at them, not at me, and said, “Whoever among you is without sin, let him throw the first stone.” Well, that gave them something to think about. Who among them, indeed, had not kissed someone else’s wife or thought about it during that last week of feasting and carousing? I knew each one of them. I knew their secrets. Jesus looked back at the ground, wouldn’t look at them. But I looked at them. I started with Jesse. Yes, he was right up in the front of the whole accusing crowd. I stared at him, he turned away ashamed. Then, one by one, each of the other men looked away from my eyes and melted into the crowd.

When they had all left, Jesus stood up and asked me if no one had stayed to accuse me. I said a saucy, “No!”

With a heavy sigh he looked at me, right into me. He said, “Neither do I condemn you.” And then he shook me up with another penetrating look, “Go, and stop sinning.”

Me? I’m the life of the party. I don’t really “sin.” I just have fun. But, you know, he got me thinking…I just couldn’t shake that look.



Judas:

I guess I was looking for revenge when I went to them. I was so mad at Jesus. I don’t know what got into him. It was as if he was giving up on us. And the days leading up to Passover had been full of anxiety, always on the move, restless nights, barely any food to eat between the twelve of us. It seemed like any money that we received was spent as quickly as it came in. I longed for the security of even half a bag of coins at least for a day or two. Just once couldn’t I go to sleep without someone whispering to me, “Judas, do we have any money to buy food tomorrow?”

Pilate:

A few days ago, they came to visit me. They gave me, their Roman Governor, Pilate, notice that they were going to arrest some guy named Jesus because he was a blasphemer. I never had much patience with those Pharisees and scribes. Radicals and intellectuals. I was much more concerned with Rome—Rome, now was so much more important that any local struggles. The Pharisees kept pestering me about this Jesus and his blasphemy but I didn’t pay much attention to it, they were always after someone or other because of heresy. It was no secret to them that I hated my job or that it was a punishment. I had been caught blackmailing a centurion back in Rome, and they sent me to do my time out in this ratty, out of the way, desert village, ruling over a bunch of uncivilized crazy dogmatists. I had arrived full of hatred for everyone, even for Rome (though I hardly can bear to say that any more).

Of course I hated the people I had been given to govern. As hard as herding a bunch of cats. I tried to do a good job the first couple of years, but gave up after that. I mean, they had their own leaders, they all hated me too, and they didn’t want Rome sticking its long nose in their business. I guess I can’t blame them, but we, that is, Rome, needed to civilize and govern them. It was what we were for! Where would they be, had they not our hand to gently guide them along? I’ll tell you where. Back under crazy kings, like Herod, and more likely still stuck under Seleucid rule! They should have been grateful to us for presiding over them!

Anyway, I got used to it for a while. That’s what everyone else said, all the other governors who were out there. Everyone dulls down, I forgot that I hated Rome, and learned to love her again, because you have to work hard not to be dragged down to the Jews’ level.

Woman:

Oh how I love feasts! My favorite, of course, is the feast of Booths. So much food! So much fun! My second favorite though, is Passover. This one promises to be interesting. That Jesus who saved my life has come to Jerusalem again, this time he made a big splash. He rode into the city on a donkey. Kind of funny really, because riding on a donkey doesn’t really make you much taller than the rest of the walking pilgrims. But at least the walkers move out of the way. But they didn’t move. They just got really excited to see him. They waved branches and shouted at him like he was the next king of Israel or something. (That’s sure to stir things up over at the governor’s palace. I’ve been over there. A friend of mine’s a Roman prefect or something and he took me to see the public hearing rooms. It’s a beautiful house with marble tiles on the floor and painted ceilings and walls. There is a pool right inside the courtyard where the household fish are kept. Easy eating.)

But, you know what? Jesus is going to Simon’s house for dinner tonight, you know which one, the rich leper--unclean as Naaman but richer than almost anybody in Jerusalem. Jesus accepted his dinner invitation and then everyone else did, too. Mostly to see what Jesus will do or say, I guess. Maybe, they think he’ll cure Simon. Anyway, Simon’s finally getting the attention he craves. I’m going too. I’ve not told anyone. I kind of want to thank him for saving my life. I’ve got this perfume, see, Jesse gave it to me but I don’t want it after what he did at the Feast of Booths, and I’m going to give it to Jesus. Maybe he can sell it or something, use it for his campaign.


Judas:

And then there was the night we were at Simon’s house and that women poured her ointment all over Jesus. I couldn’t believe my eyes. And He commended her for her waste; said she would be remembered the world over for what she did for him. I knew the value of that ointment and it sure would have helped this sorry lot of vagabonds if she would have given it to us. I would have sold it so that we could live in comfort and security for a change.

Although, it may not have made much difference anyway. Things were changing; it was like something was just waiting to happen that would change everything. There was a lot of tension between us; gone were the days of excitement and wonder that we knew in the early days with Jesus. It was replaced with bickering about any little thing; who’s going to carry the packs today. “Not me, I did it yesterday, it’s your turn today” “No way, I don’t have to carry it until tomorrow, it’s his turn today."

And Jesus kept referring to his death. He said that that woman was preparing his body for burial because he was going to die. You know the thing that gets me so mad is that he could do something to get out the mess he’s in with the chief priests and elders; perform one of his miracles or something. But maybe he’s getting tired of this life; us disciples, all the crowds, the doubt, the questions, the criticism. Still, that’s no reason to walk out on us. He was the one that brought us together in the first place. He can’t just leave us. What are we going to do without him?

Woman:

I crashed Simon’s party with perfume in hand. But as I got near Jesus, he looked at me again. He looked at me and split me wide open. He knew me, deeply as the fun-loving, carefree, moocher who is needy, selfish, and longing for someone to know me, to love me. It was the same look he gave me seven months ago when he set me free and gave me back my life; that clear gaze that pierced my guarded heart and unleashed a flood of tears.

I was going to make a cute presentation of the perfume to him knowing that Jesse would be there to see and get jealous. But, then, with Him looking at me, I couldn’t. I forgot the words I had prepared. I just started pouring the whole bottle of the precious oil over his beautiful head. It ran down his beard and onto his robe. It glistened in his hair and permeated the whole house with a musky, heady fragrance.

Judas:

He could do something if he wanted to. He doesn’t even care; says it has to be this way.

I know what it feels like to be abandoned and rejected and that’s not going to happen to me again. Not if I can help it. I’ll get rid of him myself before he walks out on me.

The chief priests sure made it easy. I was just asking a question, “What are you willing to give me if I hand Jesus over to you?” I was more curious than serious. But before I knew it they were handing me money and making a plan to capture him. I left shaking my head wondering what had just happened. The money jangling in my pocket made it real; I had just agreed to betray Jesus.

Pilate:

So, back to this Jesus fellow; I didn’t think much of him at first, just another crazy Jew. I went to bed with nothing on my mind that night. The next morning, however, was different. They brought him before me at some ungodly hour. I would have been in bed long after I had to deal with this man. But, I’m glad, ultimately, that I got up. He said some of he strangest, and indeed most interesting, things that I had ever heard. He wouldn’t stick up for himself, after he told us that we said he was the king of the Jews (a ridiculous assertion, by the way, I never said that, they did), He wouldn’t say a thing. And he was mocked, and slapped; he didn’t do anything.

Then for the crowd, I did my duty. I gave them who they wanted, but made sure they knew that I had no part in, nor endorsed, their choice. I was warned by my wife not to have anything to do with Jesus, so I was wary, and washed my hands of the affair. This Jesus man struck me as so vital. Why did they want to do away with him? But, as they say, vox populi, vox dei, (the people’s voice is the voice of god). They wanted me to release Barabbas, so I gave them Barabbas.

Woman:

Why did I dump the whole bottle of ointment on his head? I don’t know, really. Jesus said I did it to prepare him for his burial. But I’ve been too close to death with him already. I don’t want to die. I don’t want him to die! What am I saying? How could I do that? Who am I to anoint him for burial? O God, what have I done?


Judas:

It was as if I really didn’t have a choice in the matter. Something greater than me was taking over. Jesus kept saying himself that this is all happening so that scripture could be fulfilled. “One of you is going to betray me,” he said. “The Chosen one will go as the scriptures foretold, but woe to the one who will betray me, surely it would be better for that one never to be have been born at all.” “Jesus, it’s not me is it”, they all said. “Surely it is not I, Rabbi,” I said.

Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Why does it have to be this way? I love you Jesus. I don’t want you to die. Please don’t leave me. You can do something. You can stop this madness. Please. Oh, God, what have I done?

Pilate:

Then the Pharisees took Jesus away using my authority to put him to death. That’s the way of it in the provinces, death after death, cross after cross. Doesn’t seem to do much good. But, I wish they hadn’t taken him. He seemed so immune to all of their squabbling! He even made me forget my problems and this asinine assignment to govern the Jews. At least he gave me something interesting to think about. What is truth? O God, what have I done?

All Three:
O God, what have I done?

LENT FIVE: Lazarus -- A sign that shrieks

Monologue written by Donald Lanctot with excerpts from Nina Lanctot's poem, "Lazarus."

Lazarus, Come Out!

In the late mornings,
I sit on the ground and eat figs with the old men of the village.
The shade from Matthew’s shop protects us from the glaring sun.

Reports have it that Jesus, after leaving here, headed to Ephraim in the wilderness.

Martha has returned to her kitchen.
Even in the yard, we can hear the pots and pans banging in her hands.
But now she staggers around the house
disoriented
as if she has seen trees walking and is no longer satisfied with simply
doing laundry,
cooking,
and lighting the Sabbath candles.

Mary couldn’t stay in Bethany.
She followed Jesus.
No hesitation in her.
I have become her walking miracle.
Further evidence that those who believe in Jesus will see the glory of God.
First, the man born blind and now me called from the tomb.

Beyond Mary’s hearing, however, other voices surface.

One of my friends,
an old man with a crooked back and a black cough,
says that I am anything but blessed.
He tells me that I have become one of those pitiable men
spoken of
by the Samaritan priests.
A pariah,
marked by God,
set apart,
cursed to never find a grave to crawl into,
condemned to wander the face of the earth for all eternity.
Of course, much of what this old man says is fantastic.
He claims to hear ghosts
and talks of travelers going mad while walking among the desert places
where there is nothing but howling wind and solitary birds.

Eli, the coarse butcher, also thinks this is all a bad business.
He bellows that they dragged me to the light
as boys drag a rabbit when they have dug its hole away.


Another of my friends says that I have been turned into a sign
by some religious charlatan,
A wonder worker who cares more about his reputation
than for God or mankind.
After all, he says, why did this Jesus,
upon being told of my illness,
delay his coming for two days?
Why the delay?
A delay that cost Mary, Martha, and so many of my friends so much grief.
A delay that cost me my life.

As he sits, pulling on his stringy beard,
he asks the question I too silently ask,
“Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man
have kept his friend Lazarus from dying?”

I sit and listen, tracing pictures in the dirt.
Still unable to really eat, I pick at the end of a fig
and remember.

A fog of voices filled my house those last days.
Martha had left the kitchen.
Mary paced.
And I
Breath by breath
faded
away.

Our friend,
Our teacher,
Was stalled
Outside of town.

That was the last I knew.

It is not death,
please,
it is the dying
I do not want to do again.

Finally,
a numbness
is grace.


Then, four days after the tomb was sealed,
A fog of voices returned.
And from their midst one lone voice called,
“Lazarus, come out!”


I sat up slowly
And around my left side all my muscles ached.
My death was torn from me like caked gauze.
Rising was as hard as having died.

It hurt to breathe.

Each and every hair on my forearm stung
from tip to root
as they, by his command,
peeled the sodden cloths away.

I couldn’t stomach my own stench.

When I was finally able to use my eyes again
and match a face with the voice,
tears were still in his eyes.

And in a sea of grief that contained the grief of all of us,
All of our deaths, and all our dyings,
I thought I heard him apologize
for the miracle,
for the two day delay,
and for the unsolicited word
that called me out of the silent tomb.

I thought I heard him say,
“As for the others,
those who do not yet know me, nor love me,
the needed act, the one
They clearly wanted, was some sign that shrieked.”

LENT FOUR: Born without the gift of seeing

Monologue written by Luke Nofsinger.

I was born without the gift of seeing.
And no one is to be blamed.
Not myself or my parents
have caused that that has stolen from me
the sight of the world.
I am simply,
blind
and for no reason that I know.

But for the first time I can see.
For the night is coming
and no one can work but
now I can see.
The night is long off and
my light shines out onto the world,
illuminating.

I am no new man.
I am the same yet I am
unknown to some
and recognized by others.

This miracle man who has given me
What I have never had.
Where is he?
Where has he gone?
Although sight regained,
I did not see what has healed me.
For where is he? I do not know.
The light that shines
does not shine on itself.

A step out of the cave.
A cool breeze blows, crisp and clean.
The sun is shining
down onto my shoulders
and i have set myself
free.

LENT THREE: Rabbi & Teacher in Samaria

Dialogue written by Suzanne Lind and performed by Kendra Yoder and Suzanne Lind.

T -- Rabbi, the children are asking many questions about the man Jesus who was here in the village last week for a couple days. They are especially interested in that initial conversation he had with Miriam at the well, of course.

R -- Yes, of course. What have you been telling them?

T -- Well, not very much. I wanted to talk with you first. I did say that it is very unusual for Jewish and Samaritan people to have anything to do with each other. Most people think that is just wrong.

R -- Hmm. Yes. What do the children say when you tell them that?

T -- They say, “Yes! We hate those snotty Jews and we throw stones at them when they come into our land.”

R -- Strong words. Did they throw stones at Jesus and his disciples when they came into Samaria and stopped at our well?

T -- No, they were all at home or in school -- it was the hottest time of the day. But some of their parents refused to sell the disciples food. (They should have known enough to bring their own food on a trip through here!) The children did ask me, however, why Miriam talked to Jesus and why so many villagers went out to talk to him after Miriam came back so excited about what he was saying.

R -- And what did you tell them about that?

T -- I confess, Rabbi, that was very awkward and I did not know what to say. I said there must have been something very unusual, but not scarey, about that Jesus, which made Samaritan people want to talk to him. And I said I would talk with you.

R -- Have you been telling the children the history of why Samaritan and Jewish people hate each other?

T -- Um, well, I often tell them the story of how we Samaritans have a unique history which separated from the story of the other Jewish groups hundreds of years ago when the Assyrians took so many Israelites into captivity. I explain that some Samaritan Jews managed to stay here and even when the Assyrians sent Babylonians and Medians into Samaria to colonize and rule and mingle with our people, the Samaritan Jews held firmly to Jewish beliefs and traditions.

R -- Ah, yes . . . so you have been telling the children quite a bit . . .

T -- Perhaps, yes, but I didn’t want to go much further until I had checked some things with you. I listened to some of the conversations that Jesus was having in the village -- I hope that was not wrong of me, Rabbi?

R -- Mmmm . . . usually listening and learning is not a sin . . . .

T -- Oh good. Well, what I usually teach to the children is that, in fact, we Samaritans are the true Israel, made up of descendants of some of the tribes that were taken into Assyrian captivity, and of those who remained in this region. For hundreds of years of that time the temple has been on Mount Gerizim and it is the original sanctuary for worshiping Yahweh, not the one at Jerusalem like those Judean, Jerusalem Jews insist. And we protected and followed the original Pentateuch. Then when the exiled Jews from the south came back and took over everything, they were using a different version of the Holy Word, some falsified text which Ezra worked on during the Babylonian exile. Now there they are, living to the north and south of us, going back and forth to their holy places, telling us that we accepted too many false ideas and practices during the time of exile -- as if they remained pure and holy in their far-off refuges, and all their new ideas were direct from God, but our faithful attempts to maintain the Jewish faith here in Israel which may, admittedly have made some adaptations to our oppressive situation here, resulted in blasphemous and false teachings. (Stops to catch breath - is now getting a bit agitated and preachy)

R -- I’m pleased that you learned your history lessons well, Teacher. Do the children ever ask why these differences have led to the total separation of the Samaritans and the Jews?

T – No, Rabbi, I don’t think they have asked such questions. It seems pretty clear to me, and I’m sure to everyone else, that ever since the exiles returned, disdained our interpretations of the holy texts, treated us like inferior people, called us mongrels, and even burned our temple a hundred years ago,
there was not much possibility of getting along together. We have had to work hard to preserve our identity and our traditions. (now getting really worked up)

R -- Mmmm, yes. The children probably absorb those feelings from the time they are small. Hmm . . .

T -- Well, I certainly did! (Pause) And that is one of the things that Jesus was sort of talking about. (Pause)

R -- That’s a very unclear phrase you just uttered. Can you clarify what you mean, Teacher?

T -- (jumps to attention) Oh yes, Rabbi, certainly, Rabbi. It seems that when Jesus talked to Miriam he disregarded all the rules about Samaritans and Jews. He was just sitting in the sun, needed a drink, and asked her to pull some water out of the well for him. Rather shocking, really, for him to even be here, and to talk to a lone woman at the well. And when Miriam, always a bit cheeky if you’ll excuse my saying so, asked why he would do such a thing, he began to talk about “living water” which would prevent anyone from ever being thirsty again. She at first apparently thought he was insulting Jacob’s well and saying that he, a Jew, could provide better water than this Samaritan “cistern.” He did play around with words a bit, from what I understand. I think I will study his use of a few words to see if I can figure out what he was after.

R -- Interesting. Did he use other words in unusual ways?

T -- He apparently used the verb “jump up,” when he talked about the water he could give: he said that water would become a spring (not a cistern, as he referred to the well) “jumping up” to eternal life.

R -- And Miriam engaged in this rather lengthy conversation with him without fear or shame?

T -- She says she thought at first that he was just teasing her and was intrigued that a Jewish man would talk like that. So she just teased back, saying sure, she’d love to have some of that water so she wouldn’t have to come to this well any more. But then he suddenly told her to go get her husband, and she soon realized he knew all about her series of so-called husbands. So she knew he was a prophet with special powers. She was a bit angry that a Jewish prophet would talk to her about her personal life, and she made some sharp comments about Jews and their superior attitude about Jerusalem being the only site of worship -- goodness, I didn’t know she could be that outspoken.

R -- Yes, quite amazing. His speaking style must have been quite unusual for her to feel free to say all those things to him. What do you think you would have said to him?

T -- Oh, well, um. (thinks) I can’t imagine that I ever would have gotten so far into a personal conversation with a Jewish man, even if he did seem to be a prophet. Those discussions are best held in a formal debate setting at the synagogue, aren’t they, Rabbi?

R -- (thinks) So why did you go listen to him when he sat talking with the villagers those two days?

T -- I guess because so many of my students, and their parents, were eager to hear him and I thought I might need to make some corrective remarks.

R -- Did you?

T -- No, Rabbi.

R -- Why not?

T -- I don’t know for sure. He said some downright blasphemous things. He had told Miriam right to her face that he is the Messiah, the one we have all been waiting for. That was what convinced her to rush off to tell others about him. She wanted others to hear this strange, unbelievable man. And when they all came out to meet him, and met his disciples, they found he was easy to talk to and had such hopeful things to say that they wanted him to stay and talk more.

R -- Teacher, do you think we Samaritans and the Jews are waiting for the same Messiah?

T -- (shocked) Rabbi, what do you mean?

R -- Hundreds of years ago we were one nation of Yahweh’s people. We all knew the Messiah was coming some day to fulfill the scriptures and to save us from suffering. Then the Assyrians destroyed our nation, and we were fragmented into lost and wandering tribes. Since that time we have all been trying to honor Yahweh’s covenant as we read it in our holy books, yes?

T -- Yes, perhaps, but didn’t some go too far away and change too much to be respected anymore?

R -- Can you explain to me which group or tribe or remnant managed to hold onto the truest truth?
Now that the exiles have come back to the land Yahweh gave us again, have the Samaritans or the Jews shown that they are the truest ones, the only chosen?

T -- Perhaps not . . . But it still seems presumptuous for a Jew from Galilee, going to Jerusalem, to stop here and say he is the Messiah

R -- Did he speak like the Messiah?

T -- How would the Messiah speak?

R -- How do you think the Messiah would speak?

T -- I thought the Messiah would have outer fire, but Jesus has inner fire -- gentle, firm inner fire. He acted like we were no different than he is, except that we are “thirsty” for good news and he has “living water” for that kind of thirst. He said soon all people will worship the Lord in “spirit” and it can happen anywhere, not just in Jerusalem. He told lots of stories and parables. He held children on his lap. But he made it clear that the Good News and the New Way are not easy -- they are just more righteous and just. I didn’t feel like refuting him.

R -- Mmmm . . . yes. I have been following reports of this man for some months now. He has never before said outright that he is the Messiah. And then he goes and tells our Miriam. Perhaps he feels freer to talk about these things in Samaria than in Jerusalem, where he has strong enemies.

T -- Rabbi! What are you saying?!

R -- What did Jesus say to you, Teacher?

T -- (Pause. Uncomfortable shuffling) He said I have a thirsty look in my eye, and he encouraged me to keep studying the holy books, with an emphasis on the prophecies about the Messiah.

R -- Ah. (pause) And what will you tell the children, Teacher?